


Requiem

by ollie_oxen_free



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Conditioning, Drug Use, H A ha, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Torture, Multi, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Not a Happy Story, Panic Attacks, Projecting, SO, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide mention, Traumatic Experience, Yandere Blue, abused stretch goes to underfell, are you proud of me, but this should be fairly tame, for a yandere story that is, i would hope not, if anything else needs to be added then ill put it in later lol, non-graphic minor character death, so you guys know like the "abused red goes to underswap" stories, some generally uncomfortable subjects, tagging is bullshit, this is my dumb ass edgy take on this shit, twisted politics, warnings will be put in as needed in the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-02-02 06:45:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12721623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ollie_oxen_free/pseuds/ollie_oxen_free
Summary: he was tired, he was afraid, and he had no idea where he wastwo of the three were normal---------or: Abused Stretch Goes to Underfell Because I Like to Be Edgy!





	1. It Sure is a Nice Day

**Author's Note:**

> new story im starting bc im a fuckwad! and this is an idea that ive just had for a while and i cant get it out of my head so

 

Humming, Sans walked through Snowdin, eyes taking in the sleepy town with a grin. Snow was lazily drifting from the cavern ceiling, as it often was, floating gently to the ground and covering any footprints that may have been made. The small breeze that was timed to go through blew some of the fresh snow up against various buildings, creating large drifts and walls of ice. Occasionally, a child would burst through the new wall of snow, laughing and shaking off the flakes that were stuck on them before moving to go back into the fluffy mounds.

Sans watched it all with a gentle smile, his steps crunching harshly in the fresh blanket of snow as he came back from his rounds. As he passed the innkeeper’s shop, the bunny popped her head out, calling his name. He hesitated as he halfway turned to meet her, eyes flicking down the path he was walking. He wanted to get home, but… It would be a bit rude and out of character for him to continue walking. Forcing his grin back full-force, he walked forward, stopping just in time for one of her kits to run up to him with a laugh, latching on around his waist.

He tensed up a bit as the grip tightened, the kit latching on with both his arms and legs to hold himself up, before he forced himself to relax. They were just saying hello. The mother’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Heya, Sans!” He just grinned back at her, giving a small wave. “How’s Papyrus?”

He pulled his face down into a grimace, looking off to the side, before turning back with a tight smile on his face. Making his eyelights flicker slightly dimmer, he let out a pained chuckle. “He’s… He’s fine! I think he’s doing better!”

It was the truth, technically speaking. Of course Papy would be doing better now. Why wouldn’t he be? Though, apparently, this was the wrong answer for the bunny, her ears falling back as her smile became more pitying. Sans hated those looks. Treating him like he was stupid, incapable, like they somehow knew the truth that he was apparently “denying.” He wasn’t an idiot. 

Papyrus wouldn’t Fall until Sans let him, and that wasn’t going to be happening anytime soon.

He continued the conversation, nodding in the right places and giving the appropriate responses. Eventually, the bun child jumped from his arms with a giggle, moving back over to hide behind his mother’s skirts to Sans’s relief. Even so, he continued to smile. No he didn’t need any help. Yes, he was sure. No, he didn’t want any cinnamon bunnies since he wanted to make sure that Papyrus ate healthy. Finally the bunny seemed satisfied enough to let him go, and he continued to cheerful walk through the town.

Other than having to talk to her, he was in a fairly good mood today. His traps only needed minor calibrations, the town itself was running smoothly, and he hadn’t had to talk to Muffet at all! Though, that may have had something to do with the fact that he had started to stay as far away from the parlor as he could at all times.

The concerned questions were starting to get annoying.

Stomping the snow off of his boots, he wiped the bottoms on the mat before he unlocked his door, stepping inside of the cozy house. His boots were slipped off by the door, and he nudged them with his sock-covered foot before they were aligned to his standards. Placing his hands on his hips he turned in a slow circle, looking around the house. Everything seemed to be in order, and he nodded once in satisfaction, turning back and clicking the locks shut before he padded into the kitchen.

Papyrus was upstairs, asleep probably, and Sans had to make sure that he actually ate his food like he was supposed to. Opening the fridge, he grabbed a foil-covered plate, moving over and putting it in the microwave after he took off the wrapping. The shrill beeps of the microwave filled the silence as he typed in the numbers, and he tapped his foot cheerily to the newest Nabstabot hit as he waited for them to reheat. If he didn’t make sure of it, then Papyrus wouldn’t eat.

His grin became a bit more strained at the thought, and he looked away from where the food was slowly turning on the plate to the floor. Papyrus just didn’t take care of himself at all. The smoking, the drinking (though Sans had thankfully managed to ween him out of both), the unhealthy foods, and now the  _ lack _ of foods, healthy or not, it was taking a toll on his body. Sans would take care of him, though.

He pulled the tacos out of the microwave once the timer went off, blowing on them before he grabbed a napkin and started making his way upstairs to Papyrus’s room. No one else really seemed to ever care about Papyrus the way that he did. Of course, he  _ was _ Sans’s little brother, but the other monsters only encouraged such behavior from his brother. The trash that hung out at Muffet’s bar (and Muffet herself, the ringleader of the twisted circus of fools) were hardly good influences on someone as impressionable as Papyrus. It was certainly a good thing the other had Sans.

He didn’t bother to knock as he let himself in his room. “Hey, Papy! I brought you some food!”

There was no movement from the Papyrus-shaped lump on the center of the mattress, and Sans gave a small sigh, annoyance prickling at his soul. “Papyrus, we talked about this. Eat your dinner on your own or I’ll be forced to feed it to you.”

No response. Sans frowned, setting the plate on the ground. Honestly, he had thought they were past this, and he was doing so  _ well _ the past few days, but he must had fallen back into his habits. He walked up to the side of the mattress, glaring down at the lump. “Papyrus, I’m giving you one last chance.”

The warning was ignored, and after a few seconds of silence Sans growled, grabbing the blanket and ripping it off. Papyrus wasn’t there.

He stared down at the small dip in the bed where his brother usually would lay, and the chains that led up to it, the links broken. Dropping the blanket, he turned to look at the door to the bedroom. There was no way that he had managed to get that far, considering that he had a system arranged so that he was alerted every time that the front door was opened. So unless Papyrus had found out about that - which he certainly hadn’t, since Sans had rigged it while he was sleeping - there was no way that he had left the house.

He’d made sure that he couldn’t teleport either, which left…

Sans sighed, walking out of the door, making his way downstairs. In the kitchen he stopped, looking around, before his eyes settled on the door that led down to their basement. It had been hidden from him for a while, but while he was taking care of the arrangements of the house, he had found it. A machine, blueprints he could barely read, and scribbled drawings were kept in the secret room.

He’d confronted Papyrus about it, but he had just gotten a look of fear and worry and stoutly refused to say anything, despite how... convincing Sans was.

It didn’t matter, though, since he was here now.

Or, at least, it hadn’t.

Sans tried the knob, finding it unsurprisingly locked. He sighed. “Papyrus, I know that you’re down there.”

Behind the door, he heard a panicked shuffle, the clattering sound of something metal hitting the ground following soon after. He waited for a few seconds before he continued. “Papy, if you open the door now, then I promise to forgive you.”

His promises weren’t worth much these days, but he would do his best to keep any for Papyrus. Or break them if he really had to. Everything that he did was for his little brother. Why was he so confused by that? When he still received no response he frowned, taking a step back from the door. They were far from being cheap, and he hated to do this, but if Papyrus refused to open it then he really didn’t have much of a choice, did he? Sans had given him a chance.

Taking a step forward, he used the momentum to swing his leg up and plant a solid kick by where he knew the lock would be. The door lurched, a crack traveling up from where his foot had hammered up to the doorframe. There was the sound of another clatter from downstairs. Sans ignored it, moving back once more to land another solid hit.

The door fell in, splinters of wood shooting out to tumble down the stairs. Suddenly, a whirring noise filled the basement. He took the steps slowly, peering around the corner to see that Papyrus was frantically working on the machine, fumbling with various tools and wires, a wrench held in his teeth. When he noticed that Sans had broke his way in, his sockets widened, the choked wheezing that he had come to recognize as screaming making its way out of his throat.

Sans frowned at the action, the expression quickly turning into a scowl when Papyrus took the wrench from his mouth, clutching it in both hands like a weapon.

Honestly.

A disappointed sigh worked its way out of his mouth as he crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking over the mess that was on the floor. He would have to clean that up later. Frankly, it was extremely upsetting, since his brother had been doing so  _ well! _

“Papyrus,” he warned. There was no way that the makeshift weapon would actually be able to harm him, or that Papyrus himself would be able to work up enough intent to cause any lasting damage. “This is your last chance. If you come upstairs with me now then I swear I’ll only have to break one of your legs.”

Another hissing wheeze. His bones were rattling, the sound loud and obvious ever since he had taken the hoodie away. The sound was comforting to Sans, in a way. His brother’s fear meant that he was close by.

Papyrus didn’t accept his generous offer, though, inching away towards the machine. Sans took a step forward and his brother stumbled, eye flashing in an attempt to use magic. The collar around his neck gave a few warning beeps before the flare of magic was gone, Papyrus taking in another shuddering breath. Tears were quickly working their way down his face, dripping onto the floor. Sans felt a twisted sense of pity in his chest. Papyrus had been through so much hurt in his life, yet he still refused any of Sans’s help.

It was very,  _ very _ frustrating.

As he got closer, the clacking got louder. Sans showed his palms in front of himself to try and calm his brother, moving closer until-

There was a flash of metal, and Sans barely managed to step out of the way before the wrench that was in Papyrus’s hand went flying through the air where his head had just been. The clatter of the tool was out of place beside the steady humming of the machine and the hyperventilation of his brother.

Sans turned, looking at the tool that was discarded on the ground. Papyrus threw that… At him… Papyrus threw the tool, at him, with the intention to harm despite Sans having told him before that he was just doing this for him and that he cared about him and loved him more than any of those others could and the cold fury in his chest was starting to build up and his hands were clenching into fists and-

Before he was consciously aware of what had happened, he heard the sickening crunch of bone, and the pathetic, choking cries of his brother. Sans paused, closing his eyes and taking a deep relaxing breath. Calm down. The shuffling sound of a dragging body drew him out of his attempt at calming himself, and he looked up to see Papyrus using his arms to pull himself across the floor, one of his legs twisted up at an odd angle as he sobbed. 

He rolled his eyes. “Please hold still! You’re only going to end up hurting yourself.”

Sans turned around, making his way over to the discarded wrench, picking it up. It was fairly heavy, and he tossed it up and down a few times before he walked over, setting it on the table. He furrowed his brow as the hum of the machine, which had been a simple low tone before, started to become louder, the whirring of fans filling the room. Frowning, he moved to face his brother, seeing that he had pulled himself to standing, using the metal hull of the machine as a support as shaky and bloodied hands swept across the panel built into the side.

Was he… trying to contact someone?

The thought made his magic flare, and Papyrus flinched, breathing somehow becoming even more panicked as his hands stuttered across the panel. Sans shifted his jaw. Even if he wasn’t trying to contact anyone, he had still defied him in coming out of his room without permission. The sharp crack of a construct being formed filled the air, and before he really had time to think about what he was doing, Sans was sending the jagged end directly into the screen that his brother was working on.

A bolt of electricity arched up and out, trailing across the ceiling and leaving a scorched place in the concrete where it touched. Sans realized his mistake, intending on grabbing his brother’s soul and pulling him away, before an intense light started bursting from the open door of the machine. It grew brighter, somehow managing to pain his eyes even with his sockets closed until all he could see was a blinding  _ white, _ and-

Another sharp crack of electricity filled the air, followed by a heavy tearing sound that filled him with such a sense of wrongness that he doubled over, clutching his hands to the sides of his head to block it out. And then all noise stopped, leaving the ringing of quiet behind.

Sans cautiously took his hands down, opening his eyes in wary curiosity.

The machine was gone.

And, aside from the congealing pool of marrow staining the floor, so was Papyrus.


	2. What the Hell, I'm in Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you should probably get that injury checked out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow look at that a whole second chapter
> 
>  **warnings in end notes** since its a bit darker than before, but they contain a bit of spoilers, but only minor ones, so i'd rather y'all stay safe

 

It was cold when he woke up. Not the cold that had seemed to work its way into his soul, making his joints stiff and magic slow, but actual cold air brushing across his bones. He cracked open an eye, intending on looking around his room- sometimes, when he upset Sans, his brother would leave the window open just enough so that he was shivering and longing for warmth, but not enough so that it would seriously damage him- when he was struck by just how bright it was.

It was bright, and it was cold, and he was…

The memories of earlier all rushed back to him at once, and he sat up quickly enough for his head to swim violently, making him lurch to the side. He’d managed to break off his chains by slamming them against the wall, and he’d gone downstairs to the machine. God if he had understood the blueprints when he had started working on it years ago, but he knew enough to figure out that it was some kind of teleporter. Desperate to finish it, he had rushed through the prints, but Sans had come home early and he didn’t have time to fully finish it, but…

It had worked.

The lurching feeling had been slightly different than the usual feel of his teleports. Stronger, somehow, and almost wrong, but something to be expected since he used a machine. The machine. He moved his gaze over to the burnt hull of the device he had used to travel, half buried in snow and still smoking, the gray tendrils curling up to the ceiling of rock that counted as their sky.

He tensed in fear as he watched the smoke drift to the sky. There was no way that wasn’t visible all the way from Snowdin, and he had no idea where he had teleported aside from in the woods in a snowy area and Sans would find him and he had to move. Bones clacking not entirely from the cold, he attempted to stand, but fell in a silent scream as his left leg buckled underneath of him. Tears were clouding his vision, leaving frozen tracks down his cheekbones, so he couldn’t make out much aside from how his leg was twisted in a very not-normal way, and the growing red that was staining and melting the snow around him.

He needed to move.

Papyrus dragged himself through the snow- god, how long had it been since he had actually seen the snow? It was harder than he had thought it was, packed like ice, so different from the fluffy flakes he was used to. Or maybe it had never been soft to begin with.

He couldn’t remember.

His bones started clacking louder, and he forced himself to quiet. Grabbing onto a jagged branch, he used a nearby tree to pull himself up to standing, leaning against the rough bark for support as he caught his breath. A small, dead branch was just within his reach, and so he took it and broke it off, sliding down to sit once more as he looked at his leg.

There was no way he would manage to get far or fast with his leg the way that it was, twisted out and sideways and slowly dripping marrow. He shoved the collar of his shirt between his teeth, biting down on it as he stilled his breathing. Reaching down, he grabbed both ends of the snapped bone, hesitating for just a moment before he forced the ends back together-

_ trying to move away and being pinned by blue magic, unable to do anything but scream as his shattered ribs were forced back into place _

-thanking whatever god that may or may not remain that Undyne had taught him a bit of emergency medicine with her experiments. He thought that he would never need it. 

He still wished that he didn’t.

Once he got over the burning agony of it, the pain fading to a dull throb, he grabbed the stick and broke it into two almost-even pieces.  There wasn’t a lot that he could really be glad about, but he was at least grateful that the collar took away whatever voice he had left. He wasn’t sure that he would have been able to stay quiet otherwise.

Now he just needed… Looking around the area showed that there was nothing nearby that could be used as a binding. He swallowed once, hesitating for just a moment before grabbing the top of his tank top, pulling it over his head. The sharp, cold air cut through his bones, brushing over his exposed soul and sapping away whatever small amount of warmth he may have felt. It was so much colder than he remembered. It had been so long since he’d been outside.

Grabbing the collar of the shirt with both hands, he pulled with all the strength he could muster. Which wasn’t much. He hadn’t been able to move a lot while… stuck in his room, so what little energy he used to have was sapped from his bones.

The shirt itself was threadbare enough to tear after a few more harsh tugs, the sound loud in the still silence of the forest. It was like the entire area was shrouded in foreboding, waiting for some inevitable evil to come through and strip everything away. It was heavy, near suffocating. He tore the shirt faster.

After enough strips were made, he secured the makeshift splint on his leg, pulling himself back up and testing his weight. It hurt like hell, but it didn’t need to feel good. It just needed to be functional. The remains of his shirt were discarded in the snow (they wouldn’t really cover enough to be useful for warmth anyways) as he started to hobble away from the machine, using the thin treeline for support. It was odd, he…

He remembered the forest being a lot thicker with undergrowth.

The area was almost deathly silent as he made his way through the woods, and paranoia caused the magic to prickle on the back of his neck. It felt like eyes were on him no matter where he went. He picked up the pace, gritting his teeth at the pain.

Just ahead, he caught a glimpse of a clearing, air rushing out of his mouth in what may have been a quiet laugh or a sob, moving slightly quicker. Every step was agony, the collar leaving him unable to even use magic to numb the pain, but he made it, standing just on the edge of the path that led from the ruins. 

...How long had he been chained in his room to forget what the path looked like? He may just be disoriented, but… He shook his head, looking anxiously to his left where the path led to Snowdin. He could worry about it later.

The man behind the door was his only haven, at this point. He started moving down the path on shaky legs, scanning the area around him with a shiver, trying to shrug off the weight of eyes. There was no one there. The walk to the ruins entrance was much longer than he had thought it would be, his injury slowing him, but the awareness of what lied behind him made him hurry as best he could.

Papyrus didn’t want to think about what would happen if Sans caught him now.

The wall of rock that the ruin’s entrance always seemed intimidating, but the way that it was looming over him now - cracks traveling through the stone and jagged boulders sticking out threateningly - made him hesitate before he continued to limp to the door. This was his only chance, he reminded himself, no matter how much it appeared like the cave walls themselves were looking to collapse and permanently trap anyone so foolish enough to come near. He relaxed as he drew close enough to see the familiar, comforting royal insignia printed on the stone of the door. At least one thing appeared the same despite the horrors.

Lifting a fist - it was clenched loosely, despite his attempts otherwise, the cold sapping his strength and making his bones clack loudly enough that he wondered if he really even  _ needed _ to knock - he hit it once against the center of the door. The impact made him wince, pulling his hands to his chest in an effort to ward out the cold. The resulting sound was weak and quiet, assuring him that there was no way the man would have been able to hear and come to his aid.

A full-body shiver made him lose his balance, falling forward and hitting his shoulder hard against the rough stone. It scraped the bone as he slid to the ground, sitting on the packed ice. The cold was slowly becoming less noticeable, he realized, and vaguely he wondered how long hypothermia took to set into a skeleton, slowing his magic enough that it was no longer able to upkeep his soul and leaving him to dust.

Surprisingly, he wasn’t too worried about the fact. Such an end was preferable to dying alone in his room at the hands of his brother.

Papyrus looked down at the snow. Despite living in a literal village of ice for years, he was glad to see it. Glad that he made it here, where countless hours had been spent in good company, unwrapping one sucker after another, chain smoking on the worst days and laughing on the better, always surrounded by a few bottles of… mustard?

He moved to grab one, but his fingers refused to move from their claw-like position, simply prodding at the empty bottle. That was odd, he didn’t-

The sound of footsteps crunching in the snow grabbed his attention, making him sit rigid and snap his blurry gaze down the path. His bones started to rattle of their own volition, loud in the still silence. After a split second, his panic was confirmed as familiar, terrifying figure came into view.

His brother paused before the silhouette started moving again, faster, coming directly towards him.

No, no, he couldn’t, he  _ wouldn’t _ go back, if he went he would never get out again and everyone would just assume that he fell down if they even bothered to care at all, and he was shaking and the collar was sounding that horrible tone again as his magic started to form in his panic and he couldn’t go back he  _ couldn't _ he would never make it out again, Sans would make sure and-

Screaming wouldn’t help. Screaming would just make it worse, since no one would come to help because no one could hear in the first place, and the slight wheezes he could make only seemed to encourage Sans. His vision started to fade to black around the edges as his breathing became frantic, his stiff limbs jerking in an approximation of trying to escape, or move, or do  _ something. _ He would rather die than go with Sans, he would-

Before he was entirely aware of doing so, he moved his skull forward, clenching his eyes shut before he brought it back as hard as he could. The hit left him dazed, but at best the man would hear the louder blows, and at worst he wouldn’t have to go back with Sans at all, so he continued, leaning and slamming back.  _ He wouldn’t. _ A hit.  _ Go. _ Another, a cracking sound following soon after, sending pain lancing across his skull.  _ Back. _ Something warm was flowing down the back of his head, and his mouth tasted vaguely metallic.

Sans made a panicked noise, voice scratchy-

_ stuck in his room in chains as he listened to Sans cry himself hoarse to Muffet when she came over to check on him, not wanting to see his little brother die, not wanting to see his little brother hurt, and the collar was locked too tight to be removed, bloodying his own wrists and phalanges trying to escape as  _ **_she_ ** _ consoled what  _ **_used_ ** _ to be his brother- _

as he moved quickly, grabbing Papyrus’s hands and pulling him away from the ruins door. 

He struggled weakly, every movement making new pain stab across his body, cursing himself as everything faded to black. Dual pinpricks as red as blood chased him into unconsciousness.

It was…

Cold...

* * *

 

Sans swore as he dragged the other away from the door, their struggles weakening until they went limp in his arms. Granted, he always was expecting something fucked up when he came to the crazy bitch’s door, but this was just a little too far out of the norm for him to truly have expected. He placed the skeleton on the ground, looking over their form, feeling a cold sweat start to work up on the side of his skull.

Skeletons weren’t common at  _ all _ in the underground (he was fairly certain he and Boss were the only ones), much less a skeleton that looked like his brother back when the two of them were younger. Back before all the cracks and the scars had started to litter his features and their world had forced them into the roles they had to survive. Though…

The kid beneath him had scars of his own, breaks over his ribs and arms that looked to have been healed fairly well, scabbed magic covering his wrists and ankles. A heavy metal collar adorned his neck, and - judging by the lack of a tag - it obviously wasn’t for marking purposes. A poorly-made splint was around one of his legs, the bottom of the cargo pants the other was wearing stained with blood. Fresh cracks wrapped around his skull like some kind of twisted halo, the self-inflicted injury quickly dyeing the snow red.

Sans frowned, glancing around the area, before he leaned down to pick the other up, intending on teleporting home. Boss would probably know what to do, or at the very least he was more versed in healing magic. His bones were like ice under his hands, and Sans gave a low curse, looking around once more before shrugging off his jacket, wrapping it around the kid before picking him up.

If he was that cold, then there was no way that he’d be able to handle a ‘port all the way back to their home. He started to walk down the path, manipulating his magic back into a warning, shifting into the cocky grin he usually had: proud of his new “prize.”

Part of him wondered just why the fuck he was bothering to help someone who was obviously going to die soon without help. Someone who might still die  _ with _ help. He dismissed it as curiosity, not bothering to acknowledge (or ignoring) the lack of LV and the face that was so similar to his brother’s.

God, he needed a drink.

He shifted the body in his arms so most of the weight was on one of his shoulders, sweat starting to work its way down his skull. The trees lining the path shifted a bit, and Sans threw a glare to the treeline, magic sparking up in warning. The movement stopped. And, after a few more steps, Sans did as well. He was getting tired very quickly, not used to having to carry something heavy as far as he had.

Rolling his head on his shoulders, he cracked his neck, keeping his breathing slow regardless. Showing weakness would get him and the newcomer killed. He looked around the area at the hidden switch trap, eyes roaming over the spikes and the area just beyond them covered in dog tracks. An idea popped into his head.

He set the kid on the ground, straightening up and giving a low whistle. There were a few moments of silence before a bark sounded, and then another, running footsteps making their way towards him. The Dogi couple came into view, not pausing in their sprint as they ran towards the sharp spikes, jumping over them easily. The snow in front of him scattered in the air as they landed, shaking themselves of the flakes before standing at attention.

“We heard!”

“(You whistle!)”

Sans went to sling his hands in his pockets, remembering last minute that he had used his coat to cover the skeleton beside him. Settling on slinging them in his pockets, he leaned to one side, keeping the lazy grin on his face. He nodded his head at the shivering and bloody bundle on the ground before looking back up at them. “Found this kid ‘n the forest. Take ‘m ta Grillb’s fer me.”

Doggeressa bent down, sniffing at the kid. Her snout nudged aside the rim of the coat, showing the heavy metal collar that was latched around his neck. Both dogs perked up at seeing it, Doggeressa moving back a bit before she continued to sniff.

“No tags…”

“(He doesn’t belong to you…)”

Sans stiffened. God, their linked speaking was fucking creepy as shit. “Finders keepers, right?”

His eyes flicked down to where she was getting a bit too close for comfort, top lip lifted up in the beginnings of a snarl. He knew just how much the dogs liked bones, and if they decided that they needed a new chew toy, then there was nothing he could really do to stop them. Defending a stranger was a mercy that was unheard of, and would likely cause more harm to their reputation than anything.

“The pup was half dead when I found ‘m,” he said, grasping at whatever straws came to mind. Luckily, it looked to be the right answer.

Both perked up, looking between him and the kid. “(Pup?)”

Relieved, he nodded, wiggling his fingers around in his shorts pockets. He brushed against something plastic, and looked down with disinterest to see a packet of mustard. Huh. A shuffling sound drew his attention, and he looked up to see the dogs both hunched over the kid, axes strapped onto their backs as they blocked the wind with their bodies. They were hunched over him almost protectively, and Sans filled the reaction away for later use.

“(Should we tell the Lieutenant…)”

“About the Pup?”

Sans shrugged. “I’ll handle it. Jus’ get th’ k-... the ‘pup’ ta G’s.”

They both yipped their approval, and Sans sent a prayer up with what little faith he had in the angel left that he wouldn’t get his jacket back coated in dust as they darted off, Dogaressa cradling the kid to her chest as Dogamy followed close behind, axe in hand. He stood where he was for a few more moments after he had watched them go, catching his breath again, before he looked down at the snow where the kid had been a few moments before.

The streak of red was stark against the pale white of the snow, standing out like a beacon.

He kicked snow over it until he could almost pretend that it wasn’t there, and the only reason that his nonexistent gut was twisting was because that meant that he would have to scrub marrow stains out of his coat again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNINGS:**  
>  -suicidal thoughts/actions (if you wish to skip this, then stop reading after "Screaming wouldn’t help." and continue after the break. minor summary is that papyrus decides that he would rather die than go back with sans, and his actions stem from that)
> 
> wow this is just a chapter full of sunshine. (i can already tell that this is beginning the downward spiral into unintelligible chaos, okay!)


	3. Are There Any Other Squidwards I Need to Know About

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im sure he's just a fan cosplaying you, no need to worry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk how many of y'all read while listening to music, but [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d4NqkmAH26M) song is pretty damn mellow and i pretty much listened to it on repeat while writing this chapter

 

Papyrus looked up from his papers at the sound of three harsh knocks on the door. He waited for more, but when none came he sighed, pushing back from his desk and moving to the door. Paperwork tended to be tedious anyways, after a while. A break from the monotony would be welcome.

Stopping just outside of his room, he looked down over the banister and around the rest of the house. Nothing seemed out of place, and he didn’t sense any immediate threat, so he walked to the stairs, making his way down them. Likely, it was Undyne coming to bitch at him about something that the dogs had or hadn’t done, or maybe she was there to bitch at him about the paperwork not being done so she could take it to their “oh-so-gracious” monarch.

Much of their interactions involved either Undyne bitching at him of the two of them fighting, he realized.

Though it couldn’t have been the water sprite. She was far too impatient to knock, let alone wait more than three seconds after doing so. His threat of traps and actual traps set just inside did little to deter her from breaking down the door when she really wanted in.

He unbolted the door smoothly, swinging the door open to see Doggo standing at attention, mangled ears laid flat and nose testing the air. When Papyrus moved, his gaze snapped to him, head dipping in a quick nod before he brought his fist up to slam just on the left side of his chest in a salute. “Sir!”

Papyrus wrinkled his nose ridge in disgust. He could smell the reek of smoke on him from here. “At ease.”

The salute was dropped, and Doggo shifted a bit in the snow. After staring at him for a few moments, Papyrus internally sighed, bringing his hand up in disinterest to look at his glove and using his thumb to pick at the sharp fingers. The movement was subtle, but enough for the sight-stricken mutt to see.

“Well? Do you have any news for me, or did you just come here to waste my time?”

Doggo shook his head with a sneeze, eyes locking onto the small movement of his hand. “Sans said that he needed you to come to Grillby’s.”

A spark of rage lighted in his soul before he quelled it, taking a deep breath. It wasn’t enough to hide the brief flash of intent from the dog in front of him, of course, and he flinched slightly, head turning and tilting to the side so his throat was slightly exposed. The show of submission brought him back to reality, and with a calming breath Papyrus steeled himself, taking a step out of the house and slamming the door behind him. He waved Doggo off, the other nodding with his ears flattened before dropping down onto all fours, darting back to his station. Papyrus watched him go before moving down the path himself.

For the other’s sake, he sure as hell hoped that Sans hadn’t gone to Grillby’s to slack off again. Of course, Papyrus supposed that he should be somewhat grateful that he sent for him if he’d gotten drunk as opposed to stumbling home and putting himself in danger.

He wasn’t going to show that relief, though.

And, when he forced the door to Grillby’s open, standing threateningly in the doorway and scanning over the few occupants inside, he didn’t show relief at seeing Sans sober either.

It was deathly silent in the bar. Which, of course, wasn’t that much of a shock. Whenever he came into the bar, all conversation immediately stopped so that threatening and fearful glances could be thrown his way. This silence was different, though.

Usually, up until he entered the bar, conversations would still be happening, loud threats and laughter and the occasional smashing of glass by the patrons making its way out into the muted Snowdin air. This time was different. This time, as he walked to the door and through it, it was silent, only the occasional muted hush of a whisper sounding out. When he surveyed the bar, Papyrus realized just why it was so suffocated.

Tension was rolling from the front, where Grillby was polishing a glass, head tilted to the side and the occasional spark of flame letting him know that he was talking to Sans. A majority of that tension seemed  to radiate from Sans himself, his brother not bothering to hide it. Though, with the way that other monsters saw it, the tension was likely from fear, or maybe barely-withheld anger. The stillness made sense then. Not many want to be on the wrong end of a Blaster, much less from Sans, and if his brother truly was angry then avoiding him was the wisest decision to make until Papyrus arrived.

Gazes snapped away from him as he met them head-on, thumb resting against the leash that he kept clipped on his belt. The tension from Sans wasn’t angry, though, so he let his hand fall, boots clicking against the splintered wood as he made his way to the counter. He schooled his face into a mask of indifference, refusing to let the intent in the bar affect him any more than it already had. Sans turned his head, still leaning on his elbows against the bar, as he walked forward. And then his face changed, from a blank mask to something cocky, proud, as he slid off the stool, slinging his hands in the pockets of his ratty jacket as he looked up at him.

Papyrus stopped, crossing his arms and letting a growl rumble in the back of his throat. The cockiness dropped a tad. “This better be important, whelp.”

Without even knowing what it was, Papyrus was already well aware that it was important. Sans rarely had him come to the bar, and he’d never met him with such confidence before. Or, at least, a show of confidence, his smile not quite fitting right and posture too tense to properly show the emotion he was going for. On the outside it looked like he was stepping down, and Papyrus filed it away as good enough for now.

Sans shrugged, turning his head to the side to look at the fire exit behind the bar. “Jus’ found somethin’ you’d like ta see, is all.”

As if on cue, Grillby pushed back from the bar, walking over to the door and pulling it open. Sans started back and, after a moment’s pause, so did Papyrus. It was uncomfortably warm when they stepped into the hallway behind the door, but he didn’t have much time to linger on the thought before Sans was walking down the hall, floorboards creaking under his feet.

There were no lights in the back aside from a small flame flickering purple and red that jumped down the hall as they moved, lighting up the various sconces that were placed in the wall as they passed them. Obviously magic of Grillby’s own, and Papyrus had to commend the flame for his cleverness. With the flame following them, the elemental would have a grasp on where they were at all times.

That didn’t mean that he liked the spying, though.

Sans kept the same steady pace despite it, obviously comfortable with his surroundings.  _ Like a dog leading its master to a find, _ his mind supplied, and though he was loathe to compare either one of them to that, in the current situation with their facades on, it was almost poetically fitting. He continued to walk.

They passed a few doors as they went, a couple marked as storage or utilities, and a few nicer than their splintered counterparts, decorated with what looked like actual gold, until they reached a plain one at the end of the hall. The flame stopped moving after that, appearing one last time on the torches on either side of the door, the flickering light throwing their shadows in odd places over the walls.

The door opened smoothly, hinges silent as he filed into the room after his brother. It was dim, and fairly hard to see, but he could make out enough to see the large bed in the middle of the room, and a lump under the thin blanket atop of it. Sans’s gravely voice snapped him out of his observation. “So I was patrolin’ n’ the forest earlier when I found somethin’ interestin’.”

Papyrus held his tongue at the retort that he almost made on Sans being a sentry, and the only real reason that he would have moved was because he was slacking off once again. Despite the temptation, he could tell that the situation was rather serious if Sans had brought someone back instead of leaving them to die. Papyrus nodded his head sharply, once, to show that he was listening. Sans kept the same grin on his face, strained and maybe tinged with a bit of actual nervousness beside the pride. Instead of responding, Sans jerked his head to the mass within the blankets, gaze giving away nothing.

After a moment of silence, Papyrus strode forwards, grabbing the top edge of the blanket and pulling it back enough to get a glimpse at the individual’s face. He didn’t know what he was expecting. Maybe another child escaping abuse, or some soon-to-be martyr for a dying cause, but looking to see what was almost himself left him in blank shock. At first, he thought it was a trick, and reached a hand forwards to grab whatever fucking mirror Sans had used to play the dumbass joke, but when his fingers met nothing but bone he was stunned into inaction.

Almost himself, but not quite, like the glimpses from a mirror out of the corner of the eye, where the light and angle seem to change the form of one’s own figure into something entirely different. Yet it wasn’t a mirror - he wasn’t entirely ruling out a twisted joke - but something two steps away from himself lying in the bed. His fingers grazed the imposter’s cheek as he pulled his hand away, and the action seemed to startle the unconscious one, the dull sound of clacking bones filling in the space alongside the soft crackle of flames.

“It’s…” He trailed off, for once not entirely certain how to react in the situation, the unspoken  _ ‘me’ _ seeming to ring around in his skull.

Sans let out a twisted chuckle, snapping him from his thoughts. “Another skeleton, right?” Sans’s grin widened into something painful, hand moving out of his pocket to hang at his side. “Found ‘im in the forest half-dead. S’got a real nice look to ‘im.”

The hand at his side flicked out a few signs, fast enough that it took him a moment to decipher.  _ Walls have ears. _ He gave a faint flick of his own hand in recognition, stepping back and crossing his arms over his chest. “So he does.”

Papyrus looked over the other now that his initial shock had worn off, noting his features. No scars marred his face, but a faint series of spiderweb cracks made their way across his skull from the back, two of the cracks near wrapping around his head in something like a halo. Fitting for the near angelic appearance of the other. As his gaze moved down he stopped at the glint of metal, eye widening as he pulled the covering back more. A solid collar greeted him, the cervical bone beneath scratched and bloodied and scarred. He turned to Sans with a growl.

“He has a  _ collar?” _ The ‘What were you fucking thinking!?’ went unspoken, but the actual malicious intent rising from him carried the message. The skeleton on the bed made a face, expression twisting into something afraid as the clacking started up again, his breathing quickening. Papyrus ignored it, though. The collars were one of the only laws that everyone in Snowdin respected - a law the people had made for themselves and not one created by the monarchy.

Regardless, if he, the sword of the law in Snowdin, didn’t follow the rules, didn’t respect the customs, then why would the townspeople do so? He had just gotten to where the residents would listen to his commands without him having to use threat of force or actual violence, and Sans was coming in with his rash decisions and lack of thought and ruining  _ everything- _

“B-boss?” He snapped out of the rage, swallowing hard. He could keep control, he could stay calm despite the LV coursing through his SOUL demanding that he kill without Mercy. Sans continued after he took in a slow breath. The nervousness definitely wasn’t faked now. “It’s not a marking collar. No tags.”

He took another deep breath to still himself, looking down at the figure once more. Sans was right, of course. There wasn’t a tag on the collar, or a name carved into it. And, judging by the lock, it wasn’t meant to be a symbol of ownership at all. He had questions. But, for now, he decided to let them slide for when they were in a safer area with less ears.

Papyrus bent over, grabbing the other skeleton and lifting him from the bed, wrapping the thin blanket around his body. As he strode to the door, Sans cleared his throat. “That, uh. That blanket ain’t ours.”

“You can put it on your tab,” he said, before letting the door close behind him. The muttered curse that followed behind him was almost enough to make him twitch a smile, but a harsh shudder from the bundle in his arms made him think twice.

It wouldn’t do to just treat this situation as just a mild bump in the road. There was something more Sans wanted to tell him, he was sure, if not for the comment of others listening in then the fact that Sans would never even suggest that he collar someone else. Nothing had been even said along those lines, but it was brought out with the subtlety that was used in the underground, brash and conspicuous.

He stepped through the fire exit once more, adjusting the body in his arms until he was holding him over his shoulder. The motion made the other let out something that sounded like a wheezing choke, muffled and hoarse. He ignored the sound, slamming the door behind himself as he strode to the door. It wouldn’t do to start caring, much less show it in front of the town.

Curious gazes flicked away from him as he continued to the door, though he could feel the weight of the stares returning once his back was facing them. The only one who didn’t look away was Dogeressa, nose quivering as she took in his scent. After a few moments, she turned back to the table, adjusting the cards in her hands. Papyrus ignored the insubordination for the moment solely because of the lack of sinister intent.

The walk home was short and quiet, his mind half occupied by watching for threats and half seeking some explanation for the situation. Because no matter how much that he tried to tell himself that it was just some trick of the light and shadow, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that the skeleton hanging over his shoulder was him on some level. His jaw tightened as he unlocked his front door, shutting the cold air out behind him as he stepped into the house. Perhaps the other was an experiment of some sort from Alphys? Rumors - and they were just rumors, but when it came to the horrors from the scientists and labs they were more often than not true - circled around the underground of how she was taking in weaker monsters, forcing their bodies together in an attempt to make a stronger SOUL.

Papyrus paused for a moment before he laid the body across their sofa, the room open enough for a fight if need be. It wouldn’t be necessary, of course, he could already tell. He’d seen a suppression collar before.

Though, if experiment was the case, then how did the unconscious skeleton make his way to Snowdin? Sans had said that he’d found him in the forest, and Papyrus knew for a fact that the scientist refused to let any of her experiments go. He’d led more than one search party, after all. What would Alphys be doing with a look-alike of him, though? Trying to discover exploitable weaknesses? Even if she had found some on the body laying on the couch in front of him, there was no guarantee that they would be the same on himself. There was no way that Alphys would be so idiotic as to base anything on such though, so experiments were almost entirely out of the question.

Papyrus growled, leaving the sparsely decorated living room and making his way into the kitchen. He didn’t move once he got there, just standing in the middle of the room and staring in silent fury at one of the cracks that adorned their counter.

He  _ hated _ being uncertain about things.

The front door clicked open, and Papyrus turned his head to the side enough to look over his shoulder. Sans was standing just inside the doorway, a familiar sheen of pale red sweat on his brow as he stared at the stranger in their house. He turned to face the shorter fully. “Explanations. Now.”

Sans flinched, but sighed in surrender, shuffling into the kitchen and taking a seat at the kitchen table. Papyrus chose to lean against the cracked counter, arms crossed over his chest. His brother was hunched over, not in his usual apathetic way, but as if something heavy was weighing on his back. The quiet drumming of his fingers on the stained wood was the only sound in the house.

“Whaddaya wanna know?”

Papyrus clenched his jaw, grip on his upper arms tightening enough to hurt. “Tell me what you know that I don’t.”

Sans paused for a moment in his tapping before his grin widened, the clicking starting up again. “Grillby changed his spice recipe. Asshole refuses to tell me what he did to it, sayin’ nothin’s different. I know better, though.”

“I’m  _ not _ in the mood for your fucking games.” He forced a sneer. “What do you know.”

“...I found th’ kid by th’ ruins door. Tried ta bludgeon ‘imself on the rock. Broken leg. A few healed breaks ‘cross his body.” Sans sighed, staring at the grains of wood on the table. His hand came up, the tip of a phalange tracing the crack that trailed up from his eye. “Thought he was you at first.”

Papyrus didn’t say anything, eyes flicking over to the couch to ensure that the other hadn’t moved. Sans continued after a few moments. “Managed ta get the Dogi couple to bring ‘im ta Grillb’s.” Sans smirked at that, though there was no humor in the action, lifting his gaze from the table to meet his own. “You were right ‘bout the whole ‘pup’ thing. Ever since they lost their own litter…”

The hand came down from his head to rest flat on the table. “I went back ta the forest after they took ‘im ta take a look around.”

“And you found something.” Sans nodded after a moment. “Where is it?”

“Gone.” He stated, and Papyrus was certain from the tone that if Sans had a drink in front of him then he would have taken a swig after the word for additional effect.

Before he could snap, or do anything, Sans was already waving him off. “I mean ‘gone’ as in it ain’t there anymore.”

“I gathered as much.” He took in a breath, keeping his cool. “What  _ was _ there?”

The drumming fingers stopped. Sans sighed. “Remember that machine I showed ya? From our basement?” He nodded. “That. It was buried in the ground ‘n looked pretty beat up. More so than ours.”

“Where did it go?” Before the question was fully out of his mouth, he already knew the answer. 

“Dunno. I went inside, looked around, but then the thing started sparkin’ and beepin’. I ‘ported out, and when I turned ‘round it was gone.”

Papyrus looked at the figure on the couch. “So you think that he came from the machine?”

“There was blood ‘n tha snow round it ‘n footprints leadin’ up ta the door.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. The familiar feeling of a headache was coming on, sharp throbbing in his temple that slithered its way to the front of his skull. “Why did you want me to bring him here, though? We don’t know who else is looking for him, if this is some kind of trap, or anything else.”

Sans was quiet for a few moments. When he spoke it was slow, cautious. “Boss? Have ya… Checked ‘im yet?”

In all the tension, it had slipped his mind, and Papyrus cursed himself for his lack of sight. That mistake could have cost him greatly. He walked into the living room without a word, hearing the chair scrape against the tile behind him as Sans followed after. He stopped in front of the couch, staring down at the face that was almost his for a few moments before he performed a Check.

**PAPYRUS - ATK 6 DEF 6 LV 1**

**6/1020**

***Broken, but not yet shattered. About as stubborn as you would expect.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im totally loving how everything is fine here! it's going great


	4. T is for Trauma!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and E is for Emotionally Compromised!
> 
> (wow you just met the guy and ur already Checking him out lol)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so im a little pissed that i kept writing and writing and writing and i couldnt find a good cutoff around my usual place, so you guys get a kinda long chapter. good for you!
> 
> a [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iV5VKdcQOJE) i listened to a lot
> 
>  
> 
> **warnings in end notes**

The world around him came slowly into view as he woke up, a headache splitting his skull and his entire body aching and sore. Almost immediately, he shut his eyes once more, fighting down trembling as he tried to stay still. Though he hadn’t gotten much more than a glimpse of the room around him, he saw enough to know that he was in the living room on the couch, if the lumpy cushions didn’t give it away. Papyrus was afraid to open his eyes, knowing that Sans either knew he was awake or was waiting for him to finally stir, and if it meant that he could spend any time out of his room then he would pretend to be unconscious for as long as he had to.

The sound of a chair scraping across the tile of the kitchen was loud in the deafening silence, footsteps making their deliberate way towards him. He risked cracking open a socket once more, just barely getting a glimpse of the same terrifying silhouette as before. He shut his eyes again. Despite his efforts, he started to shake, wincing as the clacking of his bones gave him away. Sans’s footsteps paused for a moment before they started towards him quicker than before. Papyrus tensed up, wrenching his eyes shut as his breathing quickened, cool air burning his teeth as it rushed in. Sans had to know he was awake now, there was no hiding it, all he could do was just wait for the soft words and burning pain that would come with his twisted sense of protection.

He heard a scratchy voice a few feet to the left,  _ Sans’s _ voice, but he couldn’t register the words, only the sound of it and the thrum of panic that was burning in his soul, tensing his joints and curling in his stomach. A hand brushed against his shoulder, and all the terror that had wound around his soul was suddenly released, Papyrus shooting from the couch with the simple desire to  _ get away, _ even if it meant that things would only be worse for him later.

A sharp crack filled the air, followed by the horrible wheezing from his injured throat, as he fell, the makeshift splint around his leg unable to hold up under the quick movement, his shin buckling as he landed off to the side. The carpet was rough underneath of his hands as he dragged himself into the corner made by the stairs and the wall, ignoring how the jagged piece of bone sticking out caught on the fibers and tore chips off as he moved. His back hit the corner of the wall, arms reaching out to his sides for some kind of weapon, but when he came across nothing he moved them back in.

There was no getting away now. Sans had cornered him, trapped him once more. He had nowhere to go, but he still struggled, throat itching with silent sobs and tears running hot down his face as he dug his hand into his skull. There was a raised ridge across his head, a crack, the still sane part of his mind realized, and he dug his fingertips into it, feeling his HP drop a few points, thinking that maybe it would be enough, it  _ had _ to be enough.

But it wasn’t. It never was. Sans grabbed his hands, yanking them away from his head as he dragged him from the wall once more, his legs kicking and body twisting as he futilely struggled against the grip. Sans swore under his breath- maybe he should have been shocked at the words, but he hadn’t thought his brother capable of  _ this _ and look where it had left him- the grip on his wrists loosening enough that Papyrus managed to get a hand free, reaching up with what little strength he had left and catching him in the jaw.

The hands dropped entirely after that, and Papyrus used the opportunity to scramble away, only to be gripped with unforgiving blue magic and slammed down against the floor. He closed his eyes once more, lying in wait for Sans to lash out at him. He’d only made things worse for himself, as usual. All he could do was wait for the footsteps to come closer and for the pain to start.

Tears were leaking out of the corners of his eyes, trailing down the sides of his skull and soaking into the carpet beside his head as his chest hitched with sobs. He never knew what Sans was going to do. It was so much easier when he would comply and just let Sans do as he wished, but he  _ couldn’t. _ He couldn’t give up, but he had no other option. Getting to the door had been his last chance, that machine had been his final hope, but in the end it wasn’t enough.

Maybe Sans would kill him.

Even as the thought floated across his mind, Papyrus knew that he wouldn’t. Sans had been doing everything in his power to keep him alive thus far, and would do everything in his power to keep him in his clutches. Briefly, he wondered if Sans would break his leg the rest of the way off. He wouldn’t be surprised. He was helpless either way.

There was another voice aside from Sans’s. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but it was obvious now that he had gone from hyperventilating to silently sobbing. He cracked open an eye, tears still leaving warm trails down his face, as he looked around. And he was suddenly struck with that same sense of vage off-ness that he had been in the forest.

The walls were cracked and barren, devoid of the various photos from their childhood (that was almost enough to make him laugh, that Sans kept the photos despite everything). Papyrus resisted the urge to close his eyes again as he swallowed, moving his gaze to Sans. He didn’t really know why he bothered. What was left of his brother never really showed emotion; there was no way to know whether he was angry or happy until he lashed out. For some reason, he still searched for the expressions.

The last thing he had been expect was for it to not be Sans. Or, it was Sans, but different, in the sense that the reflection from a pool of water both isn’t and isn’t yourself. But this wasn’t a pool of water, this was his living room, and the cracked, dark figure that was holding a hand to their head just above their eye wasn’t Sans. And then they straightened, pulling their hand down and turning to look at him, their face both  _ Sans _ and  _ not _ that he didn’t know how to react. His body chose for him, vision constricting to a single point as he struggled against the magic that was holding him down, trying to get away from this terrifying new version of Sans. The other said something, Papyrus didn’t know what, but the growl in his voice let him know all that he needed to.

Another voice sounded off, and Papyrus tensed up, sucking in a deep breath as he blinked in rapid succession. He snapped his gaze to where the voice had come from, watching as a gloved hand wrapped around the corner of the wall, another dark figure coming into view. They were sharp, all angles and jagged edges, menacing aura radiating from him in waves. Black and red, like blood and ashes, filled his vision, the colors dark and threatening. He felt sick.

The back of his throat was burning, the edges of his soul feeling like they were peeling away, and before he could stop himself he turned on his side as much as the magic would let him and vomited, corrupted magic sludge spilling from his mouth and dripping from his teeth. He couldn’t seem to get enough air into his lungs, his breathing ragged.

“Gross.” Said the voice that sounded like Sans.

Papyrus could feel the magic letting up on his soul, and forced his body to move back, hand sliding in the curdled corruption as he dragged himself away. Another waved of magic gripped his soul, forcing him down, and this time he was able to see the wisps of dark blue drifting up from the phalanges of the taller figure. They took a step closer to him, eyes flicking over his form. Papyrus winced, curling in on himself as much as he could, wishing that he wasn’t so exposed.

“Careful, Boss,” the Sans said as the taller stepped towards him once more. Boss was his name?

Boss eyed him in distaste, though Papyrus wasn’t sure how much of it was from the magic that he had smeared across his face and arms. “He’s injured and cannot stand on his own. I think I’ll be fine, whelp.”

The Sans said nothing, instead looking off to the side as his finger came up to scratch at the scar across his eye. Papyrus flinched away as he stepped closer, tensing up when he leaned down to grab him. The same disgusted look was on his face, and Papyrus almost felt the need to apologize, were it not for his inability to speak. A hand wound its way around his upper spine, fingers linking between his ribs for grip, as the other lifted him from the floor easily, moving him down enough that he could stand on his uninjured foot. The grip around his spine stayed.

“Your name is Papyrus.” It was more of a statement than anything, but he nodded regardless, the movement quick and jerky, making his head swim. The two looked at each other, some unspoken conversation seeming to pass between them. He went to ask who they were without thinking, a hissing leaving his mouth instead of words. Almost immediately, their gazes snapped back to him and he flinched, looking down at the floor as he tried to keep his breathing steady, wishing that he hadn’t tried to say anything in the first place.

“Well?” The sound of the other’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. “Are you going to speak or not?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, eyes darting frantically around the room in search of an answer. Finally, he just shook his head, not missing the way that the other’s eyes narrowed in anger, likely. Though his entire countenance seemed angry, so it might not have had anything to do with his muteness. It didn’t bode well for him either way.

The gaze flicked down to his collar, and the weight of the metal around his neck suddenly seemed to double. He wrapped both hands around it, bones clacking together as he shook. They’d probably figured out that he was at their mercy at this point. God, why did he ever try to escape? Sans was dangerous in a predictable way and if he just followed the rules then he would be safe, but here he knew nothing and could  _ do _ nothing, and if they wanted to kill him or torture him or something  _ worse _ then all he could do was just suffer through it until he died.

The pressure around his spine increased, pushing him down until he was forced onto his knees. The movement jarred his leg, but he didn’t try to struggle, holding still and trying to keep from crying as Boss beckoned the Sans over. His other hand moved to grab his collar, pulling it away from his neck slightly.

“Does this have a muting attachment?” The other shrugged, and the growl that rumbled from Boss’s chest was enough to make him flinch, shutting his eyes tight. “Very well. I’ll have Alphys look at it later.”

Papyrus cracked open an eye, looking between the two. Alphys? 

“The hell ya takin’ ‘im ta lizard bitch fer?”

Part of Papyrus knew that he should feel something about being manhandled like he was, the hand wrapped around his spine picking him up once more and carrying him to the rickety looking stairs off to the side, the tips of his feet hovering a few inches from the floor. Though, the other part knew that he had no say in what happened to him. “Do you really think you could detach the collar?”

There was a pause. “Eh. Prob’ly not without killin’ ‘im.”

Papyrus sucked in a breath, pulling his arms in and tucking his legs as close to his chest as possible. The broken one hung at an odd angle, the fresh break barely hanging onto the rest. If it kept going like this, then there was no doubt in his mind that he would lose the rest of the limb. He should have been terrified by that fact, but all he could muster was a quiet horror.

Sans probably would have removed his leg after his attempt to escape anyways.

Though, he did escape, didn’t he? There was no ‘attempting’ in it. Yet he had no idea where he was, stuck in a familiar nightmare with a stranger and someone who looked like his brother. From a terrible nightmare to a surreal horror. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as his brother had been so fond of saying. Or maybe he had jumped from the flame to the pan itself? It didn’t really matter, in the end, since his ass was  _ cooked _ either way. He choked out a laugh, tucking his head down as much as he could, feeling tears start to slip down his cheekbones as a terror-stricken grin split his face.

Boss gave him a disgusted and confused look, holding him further away. “Congratulations, Runt. You broke him.” He kept walking all the same, and if a response was given Papyrus couldn’t hear it over the clack of his bones.

Everything in the house was shifted around in such a way that it made him nauseous, everything only  _ slightly _ off in the layout, but enough to disorient him. The house looked older than theirs as well, worn and broken like it had been repaired many times over. The layout of the doors looked the same, however, and he took comfort in the subtle similarities. 

Boss held him up higher as he reached for the handle of the door between the two bedrooms, pushing it open to reveal a small, sparsely decorated bathroom. The grip around his neck tightened as he was lowered to the ground, the other glaring at him until he managed to get his good leg under himself. And then the hand moved away, and Papyrus waved his arms around before he managed to get a grip on the counter, keeping his balance. He swallowed, looking up in the mirror.

He stopped when he saw his reflection, eyes flicking over his face like he was seeing it for the first time. In a way, he was. There hadn’t been any mirrors or reflective surfaces in his room for… weeks? Months? God, he had no idea. Sans had taken them away the moment that he realized that he could break them and use the shards as weapons. It was funny, he didn’t remember his eyes being so hollow, or his bones so thin and grayed. Though that may have just been the atmosphere around him.

A shifting to his left moved his attention away from his reflection, looking to see Boss grabbing what looked to be an out of date medicinal kit. And then he stood fully, looking down on him, and Papyrus realized just why the other seemed so familiar. He glanced between their reflections, seeing the sharpened cheekbones and the filed teeth, but still seeing something of  _ himself _ there, something foreign but entirely familiar was… soul trembling. Boss (Was his name even Boss? He had no idea anymore.) raised a brow. Papyrus swallowed. 

He… he couldn’t be, could he? This was all just an unconscious psychosis, with a fleeting attempt for his mind to pretend that he had escaped. His body was at home, lying in his bed, cuffs firmly clamped around his wrists and ankles and Sans standing over him, watching him sleep. Before he could stop himself, Papyrus was already Checking the other.

**PAPYRUS - ATK 63 DEF 42 LV 12**

**3519/3519**

***Not as different as you think.**

A growl filled the small space, echoing around the tiled room, as Boss-  _ Papyrus, they were both Papyrus- _ began to radiate malice and fury. Papyrus stumbled backwards, the bone of his leg shifting with a grinding sound as he landed on the toilet, gripping the lid and the back in pain and fear. The red in his eyes, like blood, flashed brighter before he seemed to steel himself, reigning his aura back in.

And then he spoke, voice rough and teeth clenched. “I will give you this excuse because you’re weak, but I’m warning you only once.” He stepped forward, gripping around his neck firm enough that the magic around the bones strained, but that he could still breathe. Papyrus choked out a sob, arms coming up to grab the hand latched around his cervical vertebrae despite knowing that he would be unable to do anything should the other tighten his grip. “Don’t Check a monster unless you are ready to defend your life.”

He nodded as best he could with the hand around his throat, not knowing what else to do. The other Papyrus-  _ Boss, calling him Boss would keep him more distant, god he makes his  _ **_brother call him Boss-_ ** searched his tear-streaked face for a few moments before he was satisfied, pulling back and moving away. “Pants off. Now.”

Papyrus stiffened, wishing in the back of his mind that he could get his damned bones to stop  _ clacking _ so loudly. God, he couldn’t even resist, he would just be  _ forced, _ and- 

“What? Are you deaf as well as mute? Take your fucking pants off so I can set your break.”

He jumped, hands shaking as he reached down and fumbled with the strings of his pants, managing to get them loose enough that he could slide them down his legs, only a few more tears leaking from his eyes as the fabric caught the end of the bone before he yanked it free. The soiled garment landed in a disappointing heap on the floor, the bloodstained khaki leaving it looking an ugly brown. Boss stepped over with a roll of gauze, kicking the pants away as he knelt down, taking his leg into his hands. He wasn’t given a warning as the bones were forced back into place once more, his good leg swinging out and catching the other in the side as he gripped the toilet tighter.

Boss showed no notice of the hit, grabbing a rag that he hadn’t seen before and wiping the fresh blood that had come out away, picking the gauze up next and wrapping it tight around the bone. Two braces came next, much better than a broken tree limb, held in place firmly as the other grabbed a roll of tape, wrapping it around the area a few times before breaking it off. Boss turned away without another word, putting the unused items back in the box before he grabbed another rag, getting it wet and wringing it out in the sink before throwing it at him. He flinched as the wet cloth hit him, landing in his lap, but otherwise didn’t react. 

“Clean yourself off. You look disgusting.”

And with that he turned and left, snatching up his pants before he could do anything. The door cracked open enough that he could only see the barest glimpse of the outside. Papyrus swallowed, taking the rag and moving it to his hand, looking over the magic still smeared on his bones before starting to scrub it away. It had been awhile since he had cleaned himself. Sans usually took care of such for him. He scrubbed harder at the curdled orange stuck between his fingers, continuing to scour the bone even after all the magic was gone until a faint orange blossomed over his hand to show the injury.

He stopped after that, arms going limp as he stared at the tile floor, shivering slightly at the cold air rushing over his bare bones, wishing that he could have some kind of cover. Sitting now, able to take stock of his situation, he could feel every injury and pain on his body individually instead of it all blurring into a single sensation from panic. His wrists and ankles were chafed and scabbed over, his body scratched up and his headache splitting.

There was something still on the back of his skull, so he reached a shaky hand up to feel, hissing when his fingers brushing over the bandage caused more pain to lance across his skull. Even so, he traced to the edges of the bandage, fingers coming into contact with the ridge that came with cracked bone with no small amount of pain. He stood shakily, using weak arms as support and he dragged himself back over to the mirror, taking a closer look.

As he suspected, cracks laced around to the front of his skull, faint enough that he hadn’t noticed it before. He turned his head slowly to the side, watching the mirror to see that a majority of the spiderwebbed cracks laced out from under the bandage, just on the back of his skull. A hand came up, shaky, almost afraid to pull off the covering for fear of what he would see, when the door opened once more.

Papyrus jumped, sucking in a breath as he moved away, nearly falling backwards before his soul was gripped so tightly in blue magic that he couldn’t move. Boss stood there, face twisted down into a snarl before he walked forward, grabbing him once more behind the neck and releasing his magical hold. “If you break your leg again I am  _ not _ setting it. Stop being so cowardly.”

Papyrus nodded, not knowing what else to do, shaking in fear and humiliation as he was carried once more, Boss turning into the room just before the stairs, walking to a plain bed and setting him atop. The other let go of him then, moving to a dresser that was set across the room, blue magic encasing his soul once more and forcing him to stay still.

He looked away, using his arms to cover as much as he could as he scanned over the room. It was nearly bare, the shelves neatly arranged and everything having crisp lines. It hardly seemed lived in, completely uncustomized aside from what looked like a skull and crossbones flag that was folded neatly into a triangle setting just beside the shut laptop on the desk. He’d had one in his own room, before Sans had taken it down, the tattered flag sitting just above his mattress.

He snapped his gaze back to Boss as he walked forward, a plain shirt and pants in his hands. The other held them out, face blank, and Papyrus took them from his hands slowly. He could already tell they were too big, too broad, and with a swallow he moved his hands up, pointing at the pants and then himself.

The other scoffed. “Yes, they’re for you.”

He frowned, shaking his head. No, that’s not what- The clothes wouldn’t  _ fit, _ and he could make do with the shirt but he wanted his own clothes  _ back. _ They were all that he had. He lifted his hands, fingers shaky, before he pointed to himself, bringing his hands down to his waist and cupping them as he moved them up, hoping the other understood signs. There was a pause, so he repeated the motions, trying to keep his hands steady.

“Your pants?” He nodded. “I threw them out. You wear the clothes I’ve given you or you go naked.”

Papyrus swallowed, looking down at the pants before forcing himself to stand, shoving one leg through before the other, rolling up the waistband before he grabbed the shirt, yanking it on over his head. The cloth was scratchy, but it was a relief to be covered again, even if they were too large.

Boss had turned his head while he dressed, but turned back to look at him once he was done, face impassively searching over him before he nodded, stepping forward. Papyrus flinched, landing on the bed as he tucked his head in, hoping not to have the other grab his neck anymore. The wish went ungranted as the other simply scowled, hands closing around his spine and lifting him from the mattress. Papyrus reached his hands up, grabbing onto the arm holding him as they moved down the stairs, wincing at the hold, his good leg occasionally kicking out now that he had calmed.

The panic reignited in his chest as he saw the Sans- his brother’s face with stats that were likely similar to the other Papyrus’s was more terrifying than he wanted to think about- legs curling in once more as he was placed on the sofa, the two moving to stand in front of him. They were mirror images of violence.

Papyrus hoped, for a split second, that they would just kill him and get it over with.

The moment passed quick enough that he could almost pretend the thought hadn’t been there at all. He moved his gaze down, staring at the fibers of the carpet as they watched him, fists clenched tight and body rigid.

“Who are you?” Boss demanded, his tone sharp. It was heavy, accusing, and- despite likely knowing less than the two of them- he felt the need to apologize. Lifting up his hands, hoping that the shaking of his phalanges wouldn’t make it harder to see the letters, he slowly signed P-A-P-Y-

“We  _ know _ that,” Boss growled. The creak of leather filled in some of the suffocating silence as the other clenched his fists. “Where did you come from?”

Papyrus went to sign ‘underground,’ but his hands refused to move like they were supposed to, just jerking in a few odd directions before he gave up, curling them into his chest. He chanced a glance up at Sans- the other Sans, a Sans, it didn’t matter since he was his brother regardless- to see that he was watching him calmly. Calm was angry, he reminded himself. His bones began to clack again. Sans didn’t care when he signed, Sans didn’t want to see it because he didn’t need him to communicate to keep him chained up like he had. Reasoning and pleading hadn’t worked. It had only made things worse, had made Sans slip into that horrible calm before the storm. Sans didn’t want him to communicate. The healed breaks along his hands still hurt when he thought about it.

Though his silence didn’t seem appreciated by either one of the skeletons in front of him. The Sans spoke. “Do ya know where ya came from?” Papyrus hesitated before he shook his head, hoping that was enough. The two seemed satisfied enough with his answer, and he nearly let out a sigh of relief.

“Are you from Snowdin?” A nod.

He regretted his answer as soon as Boss let out a frustrated growl, filed teeth flashing in the light. Then the other seemed to catch himself, taking in a breath and pinching his nasal ridge between his fingers. The action was almost funny, but Papyrus couldn’t find anything in himself to laugh.

The other Sans moved his arms, slinging them in the pockets of his jacket. “Did ya come ‘ere in that machine in tha woods?” He nodded. 

The other Sans grunted in response, seeming satisfied, turning on his heel and making his way to the kitchen. Papyrus couldn’t help but be relieved that the other was leaving. Boss watched him blankly for a moment before he turned as well, leaving the room. Papyrus shifted as their murmured voices made their way into the room, quiet enough that he couldn’t hear them, but it wasn’t difficult to guess the subject.

The voices went quiet, and the sound of a door creaking open followed soon after, slamming shut. Cold air swept across the floor, brushing over the bare bones of his feet. He shivered, pulling them from the floor, eyes flicking over to the front door. They weren’t in there, at the moment. He could leave and try to find a safer place to stay, or maybe see if he could somehow make his way back to the ruins.

There wasn’t much time for him to process the thought before he was standing, eyes flicking back to the area the two had left before limping to the door, using the armrest as support. He had his hand around the doorknob when the voice from behind him made him jump. 

“If you value your life, I suggest you don’t attempt to leave.” Papyrus turned as quickly as he could, pressing his back against the door. He was terrified, yes, but he still lowered in defense at the words, eyes briefly flicking down to look for a weapon, but came up with nothing. Boss just scoffed at his reaction. “Please. I won’t waste my time with threats. Leave if you will, but know that if you don’t get killed, then you’ll likely be taken in by some of the traders.”

Papyrus looked back down at the doorknob just to the left of his hands, fingers twitching as if moving to grab it, before he swallowed, pushing back from the wall and grabbing onto the arm of the sofa, maneuvering himself so he was sitting once more. In his initial shock he hadn’t noticed it, but the other was holding what looked to be a small plate of lasagna with a bent fork off to the side. He moved forward, arms reaching out to hand it to him. 

Papyrus stared at it suspiciously. With the way things had been going, how was he supposed to know that it wasn’t poisoned, or drugged? The plate was shoved more insistently at him and he took it without hesitation this time, staring down at the food. The invisible magic around his midsection clenched uncomfortably, the back of his throat itching and burning. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten.

Using the fork, he poked the side of the lasagna before he scratched off a small piece of the top. The cheese crumbled as he gathered a forkful, his hand trembling slightly as he brought it to his mouth. Almost immediately he shuddered, the sharp punch of healing magic rushing to his soul quick enough that it made him nauseous. He forced himself to swallow it anyways. The starting intensity evened out eventually, and he forced himself to eat more, the magic in the food already beginning to help numb the pain in his leg.

Boss watched him for the first few bites before he had seen enough to be satisfied, turning away  with a nod and walking into the kitchen once more as he pulled his phone from his pocket. Once he was out of sight, Papyrus put the plate down, swallowing thickly as he tried to keep the strong magic down. The taste wasn’t bad at all (it was actually delicious) but he’d stomached little more than tacos with weaker magic the past… months. Sans couldn’t have him getting too strong, now could he?

He twisted his face into a grimace, shaking his head, though regretting the motion almost immediately when the cracks lacing across his skull began to throb. Luckily, he didn’t have too long to think over the pain before the other walked back in, seeming agitated as he stared down at the now black screen of the phone. The glare turned back up to him, and he managed to hold the gaze for an impressive two seconds before he looked away.

A poor decision on his part when a hand came to his throat, grabbing the ringlet of metal and wrapping a leash around it, clipping the lock on the leather. Before he had time to process, Papyrus was already being yanked onto his feet and dragged to the door, forcing to keep an awkward jumping limp to prevent his injured leg from pulling along the ground. The healing magic had helped some, but putting weight on it still hurt immensely.

They paused at the door, and Papyrus used the opportunity to reach up to the leash, fingers scratching along the metal until they came to the wrapped leather. The tips of his phalanges had just brushed up against the metal clip when he heard the other growl, grabbing both of his hands in his own and squeezing tight enough to hurt. Papyrus sucked in a breath, leaning away as much as the leash and the grip allowed.

“I’m going to keep this simple.” He nodded, though the other likely wasn’t looking for a response. His face was blank, terrifyingly so, and Papyrus wished that the anger would return so he at least knew how to react. 

“There’s no marker on your collar, and you’re incapable of defending yourself. You’re free game for anyone willing to bother.” Papyrus shuddered. “Do you understand?”

He nodded once more, and Boss stared at him for a moment before he removed his hand, turning back to the door. Papyrus dropped one of his hands, but kept the other up, hesitating just a moment before making the sign for  _ where? _

“Hotland” was the only response he got before the door was opened, and he was taken out into the snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNINGS:** suicidal thoughts, minor gore, im not sure what else to call it but fear/mention of rape (no rape is mentioned but the fear of it is still there)
> 
>  
> 
> delightful joke fresh, my beta, made while i was writing an emotionally intense scene:
> 
> "Does this have a muting attachment?" "yeah, i think so bro" "Excellent. I will have to look into getting one for you later."


	5. Smile, Cuz You're on Candid Camera!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i wouldnt trust her with my life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in end notes

 

It was a slow walk from the house to the river in more ways than one. Word had traveled fast, as it often did in the small town, and every monster wanted a view of the new skeleton in the Underground. The other (Papyrus needed to call him something, and he refused to drop into the so casual “kid” that his brother insisted on throwing around) quickened his pace, moving closer and looking anxiously around. There was a dip to his step, an obvious limp, and combined with the harsh clacking of his bones, Papyrus would be surprised if it  _ didn’t _ draw attention.

He yanked on the edge of the leash, twisting his face into a scowl as the movement made the other stumble, nearly falling before he caught his balance. The injured leg was lifted up and out of the snow, and if the limp hadn’t given away the break then the bunched up cloth of the pants did. More monsters were gathering- all just out of view, of course, hovering in the shadows or the trees- their eyes piercing and critical. He pulled on the leash, keeping his face schooled in impassiveness, not missing the way that the other leaned away from it, resisting. The situation was beginning to get out of hand, despite the leash and his posture, and when the other lifted his gaze from wincing at his foot to send a glare his way, as if challenging him, Papyrus knew that he needed to retake control of the situation. 

A growl rumbled up from his chest, angry and feral, and the other winced and moved away, the expression on his face dropping to slip into something more fearful. That was more like it. Papyrus stepped forward, keeping tension on the leash, and grabbed the other once more by the neck, dragging instead of carrying him through the snow. He could feel the other Papyrus (no, ‘other Papyrus’ was too long, he needed something short, something that he wouldn’t have to associate with his own name) as he struggled, the sound of sharp and quick breathing filling in the air beside the harsh crunch of snow.

The stares from the edges took on a crueler feel, despite having less-than-pure intentions in the first place. Open weakness, fear, was like candy for some of them. In certain times, when the EXP in his soul was still settling and the heady violence was still welcome around his bones, Papyrus couldn’t help but agree.

But such thoughts were for another time when he wasn’t dragging someone who was silently sobbing behind him, whether from fear or pain he didn’t know. Perhaps both in equal amounts, but he’d long since lost the ability to shed tears so it was a guess in either direction. The narrow path opened up to reveal the small clearing just before the river, and as he dragged the struggling body behind himself he felt each pair of eyes reluctantly leave them until they were alone. The Riverperson was never kind to violence around their boat, and the few that had bothered to challenge them had to have their dust dredged out of the river. Papyrus threw a wary glance back over his shoulder before he lifted the other up, eyes moving down to the bandage wrapped around his leg.

It was as white as it could be, no blood seeping through the cloth, and he nodded once to himself, holding the other further from the ground and walking over to where the boat was floating, the occasional clack of the wood bumping against the rock of the shore filling the air. Papyrus set the other down in the boat, watching as he struggled to balance before he fell over, landing on the bench and pulling his knees to his chest. His bones were clacking loudly, his hand gripping his collar and eyes following him carefully.

At least he was learning.

“Hotland.” He said, stepping into the boat after the other. The Riverperson dipped their head with a hoarse hum, movements slow and dead as the boat drifted away from the shore, beginning to make its trek down the river.

The humming filled the air as they moved over the waters, snowflakes giving way to fat drops of rain and dim lights. The faint melody of a music box was heard off in the distance, the sound tinny and grainy but still there in the underlying atmosphere. Papyrus felt his eye twitch as he watched the weeds beside the river fly by, the stems bending as they caught the breeze. It was taking much longer than usual to get to Hotland, their path nowhere near where the water started to steam and the sedimentary rock gave way to rough sandstone. He faced forward, intending on seeing what was the matter, to find the Riverperson turned completely to face the two of them, the inky depths of their hood seeming to reach out with cold fingers beside their invisible gaze.

He tensed, preparing for a fight, before realizing the gaze was directed less at himself and more at his… companion? Charge? Pet? Papyrus had no idea.

The other seemed to realize what was happening after he did, meeting the gaze head on and beginning to tremble. He shook a lot, Papyrus realized, and he would be lying if he said that the harsh click of bones against each other wasn’t beginning to get annoying. Movement from the front of the boat drew his attention once more, watching as the Riverperson nodded once, seemingly satisfied, before turning back to the helm, taking up their eerie song once more, picking up speed. Papyrus watched their back for a few moments before he deemed whatever minor threat that had appeared having passed, glancing over at the other as he got himself under control, taking in a shaky breath.

The other. It was vague- too vague. Papyrus hated it, but he had little else to refer to him as. He couldn’t call him Papyrus as well, and before he could truly stop himself he was asking: “What were you called if not Papyrus?”

The other flinched, swallowing before raising his hands and letting them hover in front of him. The same look crossed his face, the one of paralyzing fear that had frozen his features back in their house in front of Sans, the hollowed, dead stare settled on his fingers. And then he seemed to come to, hesitating between the letters as he signed S-T-R-E-T-C-H. Papyrus stared at him for a few still moments before looking at the other’s smaller stature and hunched posture with something akin to disgust. 

“Why the hell were you called ‘Stretch’ of all things?”

The oth- Stretch’s hands twitched in front of himself once more, face twitching into something halfway between a grimace and a crazed smile, hands shaking enough that Papyrus had to struggle to make out the words.  _ It was a stretch, if you ask me. _

His fists curled in after the pun, shoulders hunching over like he expected retribution, yet still shaking in amusement, his entire body spasming with laughter. Stretch’s hand came up, silent laughter still wracking his body, his blunt fingers digging into the still-cracked bone a few inches from the bandage. Papyrus just watched him, stuck equal parts in annoyance at the poor pun and sickening pity for the broken individual in front of him. It would be a mercy to dust him.

Though he’d never been the most merciful.

Papyrus turned back to face the front of the boat, going back to scanning the riverfront as they traveled along the waters, satisfied in knowing that Stretch’s HP was up enough for him to at least not dust himself with his current actions.

They reached Hotland not long after that, the boat thumping against the riverfront, stopping them in their tracks. The Riverperson turned to him, hood moving back and forth slightly to show their gaze, before they turned to Stretch who was still in the boat, fingers digging into his skull hard enough to draw marrow. Papyrus began to step back in to grab him before the empty hood snapped over to him once more, silent and menacing. He stopped, one foot halfway in the boat, tensing up as he waited for the first strike.

It never came, the Riverperson simply dipping their hood back down as if getting a closer look at Stretch, before they straightened, taking up their song once more. Papyrus kept a careful eye on them as he used the leash to pull Stretch within reach, picking him up from the boat and setting him on the sand. The humming became louder as he stepped back from the shore, watching as the Riverperson disappeared into the steam that was so often drifting up from the Hotland waters.

The other was silent as he started to walk to the labs, the hollow, dead-eyed look back on his face as he limped just behind him, trying to keep pace. There was something about this stranger that they didn’t know, something that was threatening and dangerous. Alphys would far from help the situation, but at the very least he wouldn’t have to decipher the other’s frantic hand movements anymore.

He frowned at the thought of the scientist, fighting down the instinctive unease he felt at being so close to the heat-cracked and dirty walls of the labs as he scanned the area. There were no doubt countless cameras lining the way, giving her a view of whatever was happening in the Underground. Her prices weren’t cheap, and the favors weren’t easy. Part of him wondered if it was truly worth the trouble.

The heat from the lava below caused the air to waver, giving the area a mirage-like quality as he walked up to the entrance to the labs.The doors were set a foot within the concrete walls, looking deceivingly thin, though he knew for a fact that they were dozens of times stronger than the thick walls they were placed in. He rang the doorbell, taking half a step back and looking up just above the door where he knew there was a camera, only having to wait for a few seconds before the doors gave a click, sliding open to show the deep shadows within the lab. Stretch tensed in the corner of his eye, looking suspiciously into the darkness. Regardless of the other’s hesitation, Papyrus entered the lab, expecting him to follow.

The doors slid shut behind them, shrouding them in black, before the lights in the labs clicked on, humming as they slowly became brighter. Television screens lined the wall to the left, each showing different parts of the underground, some screens switching between scenes so quickly that he had to look away before he became nauseous. The desk in front of the screen was covered in empty packets of food, nearly blocking out the view of notebooks that he knew were covered with furious scribbles of notes and dried brown fluid that looked suspiciously like blood.

The sound of another set of doors opening drew his attention, and he looked up to see Alphys walking out of what was labeled as a bathroom, pulling a pair of dust-covered gloves off of her claws and pushing her glasses up on her face. The lenses were tinted, the glass swirled from the heat and the color, making it impossible to see where her gaze was directed. She grinned, the smile unsettling and off, teeth sharp and far more deadly than would be expected of a scientist. Then again, she hadn’t gotten the job entirely for her intelligence, if rumors were anything to go off of.

“Lieutenant. T-to what do I owe th-the pleasure?” Her head turned to face more towards Stretch, smile cruel. “H-have you brought m-me a gift?”

Papyrus didn’t miss the way her grin widened as Stretch took a step closer to him. “Not for you, I’m afraid. I need a favor.”

Alphys drew her mouth down, though the tips of her fangs still poked from behind her lip. “W-what would I g-get in exchange?”

“A favor for later,” he replied. Then jerked his head in Stretch’s direction, adding “The usual restrictions, this one added to them as well.”

She hummed, taking her glasses off and using the edge of her coat to clean them. There was a scar burnt across one of her eyes, the tissue puckered and lighter than the scales around it. He heard Stretch suck a breath in from beside him, glancing over to see that the other’s eyes were wide, sockets focused on her figure. He supposed the scar was a shock for those who didn’t know about it, a vision impairment usually meaning death in the Underground. The glasses came back dirtier than before, the glimmer of dust on them. Papyrus decided not to comment on it.

“Hm. I suppose th-that’s suitable.” She started to walk over, the spikes in the end of her tail dragging along the ground with a scraping sound, adding more scores to the abused tile floor. Stretch choked, taking a step back with the intent to run, but Papyrus was faster, yanking the leash and making the other stumble to him, grabbing onto the collar to give the scientist a closer look.

A claw scraped over the ring of metal before she pulled away with a scoff, starting to walk over to the desk, swiping a hand over the top and knocking the trash to the floor. The notes were gathered in her arms, showing that it was, in fact, blood staining the papers. Her tail thumped lightly against the leg of the table as she walked back to the bathroom, the door sliding open in front of her. “P-put him on the t-table. I’ll b-be back out to operate soon.”

Papyrus did as told, picking Stretch up and forcing him to lay on the table, placing a hand on his chest and forcing him back down when he tried to sit up. The other’s bones rattled as he struggled for a few moments before stopping, body tense as his eyes frantically roamed the room. The spark of familiarity was in his sockets, that and fear, and Papyrus found himself wondering if there was a chance that he was one of the few escaped experiments. He doubted it, though. The test subjects always dusted themselves before they were brought anywhere near the labs.

The doors slid open once more, Alphys walking out with a closed metal suitcase, setting it on the ground and starting to sort through the tools, pulling out a pair of tweezers and a small circular saw. “D-do you w-want the collar modified to include the ‘t-training’ shock?”

Stretch’s head snapped to him, chest hitching as he sucked in a terrified breath. “Take the voice modulator off.”

She laughed, stepping forward. “S-so you like them loud? C-can’t say th-that I b-blame you.”

Stretch started to struggle once more, hands coming up to scratch at the bone that he could reach, kicking out and trying to remove Papyrus’s grip. Alphys sighed, setting the tools on the table as she turned back to the case, coming back with a pair of what looked like handcuffs.

She tossed one at the arm closest to herself, the metal opening and clicking around the other’s wrist, giving a few beeps before his hand slammed down onto the table. Stretch wheezed, free hand coming to scratch at his wrist, breathing getting faster. The other one was tossed, capturing his other wrist and pinning it beside the first.

Papyrus moved back from the table, eyes wide as Stretch’s went blank, the collar’s beeping showing that magic was in the process of being blocked, pale orange sparking across the metal. Alphys hummed. “T-that’s interesting.” She reached into her pocket, pulling out a syringe and removing the cap to reveal a sharp needle, lifting the other’s shirt and jamming the point into the space between his vertebrae before Papyrus could stop her.

A wheezing sob came from the other’s mouth as he jerked away from the point, upper body spasming as he tried to yank his arms from the cuffs. It was a few seconds before Stretch’s struggles became weaker and he went slack, skull hitting against the table hard enough to make him wince. The scientist stepped forward, picking up the tools with one hand and pulling the other’s sweaty, pale form towards her, turning on the saw and starting to cut into the metal. The sparks went flying to the bone surrounding the metal, and Papyrus watched as the bone around it began to blister, its acrid smell filling the stale air of the lab. Alphys didn’t seem to mind it, removing the small panel she had cut and starting to pluck at the wires.

“C-care to tell me w-why you have one of th-these?” She gestured to all of Stretch, making it obvious that she wasn’t talking about the collar, before moving back to the inner workings of the blocker. A wire snapped off with a harsh spark of electricity, striking her fingers. She didn’t flinch.

“I doubt that you truly care.”

She tilted her head so it was pointed vaguely in his direction, yanking another wire from its hold. “Humor me.”

No matter what excuse he came up with, he knew that she would find a way to word around it. The cameras saw everything, of course. Though, with as little as they knew, he doubted that she knew any more. Playing cards was only interesting when every party was keeping their deck close to their chest. “I’m sure you can see the resemblance.”

“P-playing at vanity, L-Lieutenant? Haven’t y-you heard the st-story of Narcissus?” The collar beeped a few times, her fingers pausing before she went back to worth, pulling off another panel and grabbing a bunch of the wire with the tweezers. “B-besides, skeletons all l-look the same. Humans l-leave them behind, w-when the flesh rots and falls off their b-bones. I’ve had the  great fortune t-to see it m-myself.”

He bet that she had. “How much longer is this going to take?”

As if his voice caused it, the collar clicked open, swinging into two half-ringlets. He stared for as long as the sight took to register before he growled, the sound not seeming to bother the scientist as she gathered her tools, clicking the suitcase shut. “Though I cannot say the same for you, I did not stutter when I told you to simply enable the voice again.”

The frills on the fin of her head rippled, the only physical sign of her annoyance at the jab. “I m-may have stuttered, but I hope I d-didn’t doubt your intelligence w-when I told you to keep your collared out of my lab.”

Papyrus stayed silent, eyes flicking down when the metal cuffs around Stretch’s hands released with a thud. His lack of answer made her scoff. “Y-you didn’t know? Maybe y-you should learn to keep c-control of your one collared b-before you start collecting others.” She moved her gaze to the bathroom before looking back at him. “I w-would be more th-than happy to t-take him off y-your hands.”

Papyrus picked him up, the other hanging limp over his shoulder as he moved to the door, not missing the wave of anger that came off of her at his lack of acknowledgement. The sedative- that’s what he assumed it was, at least- would likely keep Stretch unconscious for a while longer. Long enough to return back to Snowdin and retrieve another collar, at least. “If I find another, you’ll be the first to know.”

The lab door slid open, the hot, dry air of Hotland rushing into the lab, the dust and sand carried in it making his throat itch. He didn’t wait for a response before he left, hearing the door slide shut behind him, leaving him alone on the path. As he walked, he glanced down to where the Riverperson usually docked, seeing that they were gone from their usual station. He frowned in annoyance, but continued to walk to where the path would eventually converge into Waterfall, the flashing ‘Welcome’ sign to his right occasionally flickering on and off with a crackle.

The distant thud of machinery and gears that was always present in Hotland began to give way to the faint trickle of water, whispering from the echo flowers becoming louder as they approached. Threats were common from the petals, as were hushed whispers to hurry from mothers to their children. Soft crying wasn’t common though, and the few times it was heard it was followed by pleas for life. The crying that he heard now was soft and scared and sorrowful, seeming to follow him where he went.

It was a few moments before he realized the crying was coming from Stretch, the other’s breath hitching and voice scratchy from disuse. It was a few more moments before he deciphered the words enough to understand that they were apologies and quiet begging, “stop” and “I’m sorry” being repeated far too many times for it to be healthy, he would think. One name kept coming up, and even unconscious Stretch sobbed it with such fear that it caused the magic on the back of his neck to prickle.

Papyrus shook his head, clearing the thought from his head looking around the dark room. Luckily, it was empty. Even a collared, who was typically softer to begin with, shouldn’t show such weakness in the view of others. He glanced off to the side, seeing the path of water and wall of mist that led to the cove Sans had showed him one time, making a split second decision in his head before he walked over to the entrance of the room, grabbing a handful of bridge seeds before making his way back to the hidden alcove. He tossed the seeds in the water, the flower bridge popping up soon after, making his way over the flowers and to the rusty bench that was sitting in the middle of the area, setting Stretch down on top of it.

Papyrus went back, grabbing one of the seeds to close the bridge off and moving back to the bench. Stretch was still shivering, bones rattling from whatever nightmare he was experiencing as he pleaded under his breath. His voice was weak, pathetically so, and Papyrus checked him briefly, looking over his stats. He wasn’t in danger of Falling, at least, so he let it be well enough, moving over to the other end of the cave and watching the other as he shook before closing his eyes, keeping his senses sharp.

He would have to get a new collar. Though as soon as the thought appeared in his mind he growled, pinching the bridge of his nose. This… this  _ imposter _ was weak, not a speck of dust to his name. If he were smart, Papyrus would just leave him in Waterfall and return back to Snowdin, putting the mess behind him, forgetting about the appearance of a monster with his face and name and moving on. Yet he was weak as well, for going this far with it, and to return to the town after he had dragged Stretch around without the skeleton behind him? They would believe that he had either failed to protect who he had collared or that he didn’t care about the marking to begin with: that it was simply possession and nothing else.

The ramifications of such would likely set them back years, if it didn’t ruin their status in town entirely. If he were to return, then who was to say that Sans wouldn’t be targeted? He could handle himself, but only to an extent, and even the slight addition to his HP due to his LoVe would do him little good if all of Snowdin decided to go for him. And even if they didn’t then returning unscathed without the skeleton he had essentially flaunted (he cursed his lack of foresight and subtly, brash decisions once again rearing their hideous heads) on a leash would- if not his weakness- then show his lack of caring. In a town filled with dogs and bunnies, such would show him unfit to command.

What had Sans- no, what had  _ he _ gotten them into?

He snapped his eyes open when a thud came from the direction of the bench, looking to see Stretch scrambling across the ground, eyes black and terrified as he fell, staring at nothing as tears trailed down his face and his fingers dug into the dirt of the cavern. Papyrus stood, the movement drawing the other’s attention, the fear flickering a few more times before it settled on recognition, the other taking in a deep breath and letting his head fall back to hit the wall. The action exposed his throat, and Papyrus stared at the bone for a few moments before he took a step forward, reaching a hand out.

Stretch took it without hesitation, limping a bit as he was pulled to his feet. He grunted as weight was forced onto his foot, eyes stretching comically wide before he grabbed for his own throat, hand searching the scarred bone there.

“Alphys removed the blocker.” He decided to leave the part about his own displeasure at that out.

Stretch looked down, narrowing his eyes at the floor in concentration as he opened his mouth, attempting to speak. A hoarse croak came out of his mouth and he winced before trying again, getting near the same result. Papyrus watched as the other struggled before he pulled out his phone, opening his dimensional box and flicking through the items held within. He held back a grin of satisfaction as he came across the collar that he knew he still had, pulling it out and holding it in his hand. The leather was soft and well-worn, taken care of despite its age.

He stepped forward, holding it up, only to have Stretch look up at the last minute, a sound of distress croaking from his mouth as he stumbled back, eyes flashing a golden orange. Bones flickered to life around him, their hazy forms barely holding for a moment before they disintegrated, falling out of existence. Papyrus growled, grabbing the other’s soul with blue before slamming him against the wall hard enough to daze him, walking forward once more.

Papyrus unclipped the collar, glaring up at Stretch. The other held his gaze for a few moments, shaking slightly, before dropping it to the floor, going limp in the hold. “I believe I mentioned before the dangers of yourself walking around uncollared.” He looped the leather around the other’s neck, not missing how he flinched as if to recede further into the wall when he shut the clasp. He closed his fingers around the other’s throat. “And if you attack me again, then I will have this collar modified so your magic is blocked as well. Have I made myself understood?”

Stretch nodded, eyes shut tight. “Good.”

He took the leash from his side, clipping it on the hook attached to the collar. He tugged on it once, Stretch pushing back from the wall and following after him, bones taking up their rattling once more.

Papyrus was starting to grow used to the sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNINGS:** underfell is not a good place to recover mentally, mentions of medical torture, arguably minor medical torture, unwilling possession.
> 
> so, as y'all know the holidays are coming up! my workload usually shoots up around these times, as does my stress level (even with college being over around the turn of the new year) so it might be a while before i get around to updating or posting anything to begin with. though i am hoping to post a few gifts to my friends around christmas time, so be looking for that!
> 
> happy (early) holidays!


	6. When In Doubt: Apathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wow, every one of your interactions with the newbie has _rock_ ed lol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo the holiday season is pretty much over now! gonna try to get back into updates every week and a half or so, but that in and of itself is iffy so take it with a grain of salt.
> 
> new chapter feat. everyone's favorite sweaty asshole
> 
> [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mvJjmWTg7Qo) for this chapter

The machine was intact. Intact as it could be, at least, rusted on the outside with parts strewn chaotically around the basement: a testament to the time that he had lost control of his trash tornado. Sans hadn’t bothered to clean it, since he’d likely just fuck up the room later to begin with. Though now, looking at the papers that were forgotten on the floor and the broken parts that he definitely needed, he couldn’t help but to vaguely wish that he had at least tried to straighten up. The thought was dismissed the moment it crossed his mind as he snorted, reaching the toe of a boot out to nudge at a broken wrench, the metal sliding its inch and a half across the floor with a high-pitched scrape.

The situation was a lot more fucked than he had thought if he was wishing that he had cleaned something other than his plate for once in his damn life. Look how much he cared about the matter, actually bothering to sort through some of the unintelligible gibberish on the papers that had once been stacked neatly (or at least, had all been stacked in about the same area) to figure out just what the fuck was going on.

There was no way in hell that anyone other than himself and his brother should have had access to the machine- even then the rusted hull of metal and abandoned wires shouldn’t have been remotely operable- and the fact that there was a second machine out there somewhere with unknown capabilities and questionable engineering was…

Concerning wasn’t the word. It was too strong for the curious sort of indifference that he felt. Something was going on that shouldn’t have been going on, and since it shouldn’t have been going on Sans wanted to know  _ why _ it was going on. Or something like that. 

He shuffled across the stained tile of the floor, eyelights flitting around the various papers for anything interesting that stood out, until he reached the edge of the sheet that wasn’t quite covering the rusted hull of the machine. He reached up, grabbing the edge of the stained cloth and pulling it aside to dramatically reveal the machine in the exact same- arguably worse- condition that it had been years ago when he had first showed the room to his brother in the hopes of maybe jogging his memory, managing to somehow trigger that hairline reaction that he had seen, Papyrus stopping like he was forgetting something, like there was something just on the tip of his tongue that he couldn’t quite reach, like he was trying to- like he  _ wanted _ to remember.

He hadn’t, though.

It was probably for the best. For him to suffer alone.

God, he really needed a fucking drink.

Sans sighed, shuffling back across the floor to the small alcove built into the wall, looking over the one or two papers that were still sitting on the counter. He picked the nearest one up, eyes flitting over the text. Blah blah, “greatest experiment,” blah blah, “test subjects,” blah blah, “dark yet darker.” 

Nothing that he hadn’t seen before and looked over a thousand times to the point of being able to quote the self-jerk-off word for word. DETERMINATION and EXPERIMENT and TEST FAILURE all blurred into one after a while. Though there had to be  _ something _ that he was missing. Something that he hadn’t quite grasped yet, something else that he could find and all the pieces would start coming together from their jumbled mess from where they’d been dumped all over the fucking floor. At the very least, he would get the corner pieces in place. Though this wasn’t an actual puzzle, as easy as that would have been, and things weren’t going to magically slide into place, and he wasn’t going to easily find the one paper that would somehow solve every mystery of the machine and everything else, as well as solve hunger and the fact that he couldn’t walk more than ten steps in the Underground without hearing someone being shanked in an alleyway.

Whatever deity that was controlling his life wasn’t nearly so kind.

On the off chance that maybe luck was on his side for once, he picked up a few of the nearest papers, reading more of the same jackshit before dropping them behind himself. The door upstairs slammed shut, and he looked up to the ceiling of the basement, hearing the muffled footsteps of his brother moving about the house. Behind them, faint and barely noticeable, another set of footsteps were following, the steps uneven to show the limp of the kid. Their couch creaked loudly. Boss never really sat down- sometimes Sans wondered if he ever slept- so it had to be their guest.

He crumpled the paper in his hands up before tossing it in the vague direction of the largest stack of papers, slinging his hands back into his jacket and making his way through the mess. The concrete of the steps was cracked from age, a few of the pieces of it near coming out of their spots. He bent down and snatched up a corner of the step that was nearly falling off, tossing it up in the air once and catching it before continuing his way up to the door. As he reached for the handle, he sent his magic out, feeling it grasp the edge of a tear and focusing on pulling himself through, opening the door to his bedroom. He nudged the door shut with his boot before shuffling over to the stairs, his heavy footfalls making his presence known in the house.

The kid was sitting on the couch, as he had suspected, though he didn’t look up even as he stomped loud enough that he was pretty sure that even the monsters inevitably outside heard him. He was stuck in a trance, both hands wrapped around the collar around his neck, hollow eyes fixated on the floor. Sans rolled the chip of stair in his hand as he stared at the other, pulling it out of his pocket and lofting it once in the air before tossing it over to hit the other skeleton. It barely glanced off his shoulder, landing on the sofa cushion with an inaudible thump, though it started him enough to make him jump back, sockets widening in shock when they landed on him as he scuttled across to the end of the couch furthest from him.

The other was shaking, watching his every movement like he was waiting for him to strike. Sans scoffed. “Kid, it was just’a rock.”

No response. He quirked a brow, flicking his gaze down to the collar around his neck. Alphys was a bitch, and he wouldn’t be surprised if she had refused to offer any assistance whatsoever. Cue his surprise when the link of metal was no longer framing the other’s cervical bones, instead a familiar loop of well-worn leather resting against the bone. He stared at it for a few blank seconds, the kid’s hands coming up to clutch at it once more as he noticed Sans’s gaze. He frowned as he turned, walking into the kitchen. Hopefully Boss knew what he was risking.

Their kitchen was practically immaculate, as it usually was, only the slight scattering of flour on the counters and a covered bowl in the corner showing that it had been used recently. Nothing quite like rations for the guard.

Sans tilted his head to the side with a satisfying crack, not missing the way that Papyrus flinched at the noise, throwing a glare over his shoulder. A glare that wasn’t entirely annoyance, one that had the weight of actual anger and ramifications in it. Sans winced, suddenly regretting having walked in to the kitchen. “So…” He glanced to the side. “I saw that th’ kid’s collar’s gone.”

“What were you doing at the labs.” He spoke quietly, every word accented with the guardsman’s way that he had picked up with training under Undyne, and Sans looked down at his shoes with the realization that Papyrus and pissed start with the same letter.

Alphys liked having information on everyone, so it was no surprise that she would have managed to figure out that he was rooting around her tech again. It was far from the most impressive stuff he’d ever seen, but most of that had been burnt to a crisp, so it was the most impressive stuff that was still in existence. “Y’know, just lookin’ around, seein’ some ‘a th’ new shit she has goin’ on.”

Papyrus turned to face him with a intake of breath, the leather of his gloves creaking slightly as he clenched his fists. “I would normally indulge your bullshit and let it slide, but I personally think we’ve both lost right to secrecy for the current moment.”

He stopped, eyelights shifting up to look out the entrance of the kitchen, and Sans didn’t need to turn to know that the kid was listening in on their conversation. There were ears outside, and ears within the walls, and now there were dangerous ears inside of their home. Funny how much danger one change could put them in.

Sans sighed like it was a chore, and it  _ was, _ having to reach all the way into his pocket to pull out the drive stored there, tossing it up and watching Papyrus snatch it out of the air, turning it in his fingers. The drive was enclosed in his fist after that, Papyrus crossing his arms once more. “What’s on it?”

“Th’ cameras.” Sans shifted his weight on his feet, already tired of standing. He answered the question before it could be asked. “Nothin’s really on it. Flash of light and scattering snow, then th’ kid draggin’ himself to the ruins.”

Papyrus frowned, unsatisfied with the information given, but not inquiring any more. It was a pretty fucked up situation they had found themselves in, and it wasn’t often that neither of them had no idea what the hell to do. Maybe they’d have been better off if he’d let the kid crack a new hole in the back of his skull and just brushed the dust to the side with the other piles that always seemed to surround the entrance to the ruins.

Papyrus sighed, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Stretch.”

“What?”

“I couldn’t call him by my own name, and I refuse to refer to him as ‘kid,’ so we’re calling him Stretch now.”

If he gave a fuck, then he would ask where the hell a nickname like that came from. The amount of fucks he could actually manage to dig up was pathetically low, so instead he turned, walking to the table and pulling out a chair, the wooden legs scraping against the floor before he sat down, folding his arms and resting his head on top of them. Stretch would work. His fingers drummed against the stained wood of the table, the harsh tapping helping to fill the silence. 

“He’s got a new collar,” he said, since neither one of them really had any tact and he wanted to get to the point as quickly as possible. It wasn’t just any collar, either, which made it somehow even more dangerous. Then again, nothing was ever really safe. He was getting off topic.

“Alphys removed the suppressor because of your… visit, and it was the only one I had on me.”

“Then get ‘im a new one.”

“I  _ can’t,” _ he hissed, and Sans cursed himself as Papyrus stiffened again after he had started to calm down. “There was a chance that someone noticed the change in collars. The damage has been done, and switching them out will only make things worse.”

Papyrus pushed back from the counter, taking two steps towards the exit to the kitchen before turning on his heel, pacing in the other direction. Like a caged animal, just as dangerous and unapproachable. He was stuck deep in thought, face turned into a scowl and eyes distant with the fist holding the flash drive pressed against his chin. His boots clicked against the floor in a steady rhythm. Sans watched him for a bit, noting the tension in his form and the animosity radiating from him. It would be another hour of that, at least, and Sans could sit and watch him or…

Fuck it, he was going to Grillby’s.

He stood from the table, Papyrus barely giving him a glance out of the corner of his eye before he left, padding across the tattered carpet to the front door. The k- Stretch watched him warily and he gave him a sneer, watching the other flinch and look away as he pulled his hands into his chest. The bones on his arms were glowing slightly with healing magic, a golden orange- not a color speckled with sickening corruption but an actual, pure orange- and the lights in his eyes were flickering on and off, like he was trying to decide if he should attack or not. Or maybe he didn’t have control of his magic. Either way, Sans let his own magic flare slightly, enough so that the other flinched once more, lifting his chin up and giving him an even clearer view of his new accessory, before he opened the door, stepping out into the snow.

Eyes that were on him quickly looked away, the few monsters milling about in front of their house glancing at him before continuing their hunched over, defensive walks. He let the corner of his mouth curl up into a cruel smirk as he moved through the snow, the curious gazes following his back all the way to Grillby’s. The door hit the bell just above it as he entered, announcing his entry to the gathering of monsters inside. Most of the conscious ones turned to glare at him before returning to their drinks, and after a moment’s pause Sans moved towards the bar, sitting at his trademark stool.

He propped his chin on his hand as he sent a wink in Grillby’s direction, the elemental crackling a bit in a murmur of curses before going back to fixing drinks. He brought a phalange up to scratch at a crack that ran through the polished wood of the bar right by his seat. A token of the first time he had placed his happy little coccyx on the stool, taking the appointed spot of a monster from the town. Sans had been a few drinks in at the time- he was usually a few drinks in at any given moment- and in a moment of rage at the larger monster’s threat and the fact that the fucker had grabbed his collar, he had slammed their face into the bar enough times that Grillby had to get out the broom and the dustpan.

Sometimes, if he picked at the edge of the crack long enough, he could almost see the tiny specks of dust still lodged in-

Something butted into his arm and he swore, turning and letting his magic prickle up threateningly as a single eye lit up, ready to throw a punch even if Grillb’s would kick him out of the bar for the time being, but he stopped when he saw that it was Doggeressa. She sniffed at his arm again before pulling back, eyes flicking over him. 

“(Where is the Pup?)”

He glared at her, jerking his arm back so his elbow hit her in the chest, shrugging her off. “He’s with th’ Boss.”

The dogs all turned their heads when his arm connected with Doggeressa, but they quickly turned back to their card game. She gave him another sniff, ears flattening. “(Smells like fear.)” A growl suddenly rumbled from her throat, and Sans was close enough that he could see all the hairs on her body lift up. The dog table was responding with a few growls and confused yips of their own, ears swiveled in their direction. The attention of the bar was on them, and out of the corner of his eye Sans saw Grillby slowly pushing his sleeves past his elbow, as if preparing for a fight. So much for a quiet drink.

“Heh, I’d back off if I were you. Th’ pup ain’t trained ta survive. ‘Course he’s gunna be afraid.”

A few yips to the side drew her attention away, Lesser Dog placing his cards face down as he relayed a message to her. Doggeressa’s snout twitched a few times once the other was done, as if she was still fighting the urge to grab at his throat, before she took a step back, a low growl still rumbling in her chest. And then she huffed, turning to walk back to her game. “(Guard the pup, Sans.)”

He snorted, turning back to the counter. “Mind yer own, bitch.”

Grillby walked over once he propped both elbows on the counter, glaring at him through his lenses.

*Don’t try to start shit in my bar, Sans. I’d hate to have to call the Lieutenant again.

He chuckled, bringing a fist up to gnaw on one of his knuckles. “Love ya too, Grillbz.” The other’s flames sparked in annoyance before he turned without a word, looking over his shoulder. Sans gave a heavy sigh. “Give me th’ most dangerous shit ya got.”

Grillby nodded, taking a glass and moving over to the other end of the counter to prepare the drink, coming back a few moments later with a glass of clear fluid. Sans gave it a look before mentally shrugging. Straight spirits weren’t really his thing, but if it got him drunk faster then he wasn’t complaining. He took a sip, waiting a few moments in confusion before he scowled, setting the glass back down. Water.

“Ya know, yer a real fucking comedian, Grillby. Who ever said ya ain’t go no sense a humor?”

Grillby crackled in amusement, the flames where his mouth would be parting so that magma dripped between them in a horrific grin. 

*I don’t need your keeper on my ass again for doing my job. Besides, the rumors are already starting. The two of you have your own to worry about.

Sans growled, pushing the glass away and watching as Grillby grabbed it, flames crackling as he heated it up and the water inside started to boil. The stool squeaked as he stood, and were the eyes of the room not already on him then he would have worried about the attention it had drawn. 

“Fuck you too, Grill,” he said, before making his way to the door. Whispers followed him as he made his way back out into Snowdin. The future was even more uncertain than it had been.

They would have been better off had he let Stretch kill himself, or- better yet- if he had killed the other himself. Walking back to their house, Sans knew that the feeling would only grow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reject dialogue: “Hey, Sans, heard the Lieutenant’s got a new dog.” “Last I checked ‘e was a skeleton, ‘less ya know somethin’ I don’t.”
> 
> apathetic asshole is my new favorite alliteration


	7. I, Like, Can't Even

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which a conversation is had, we meet two new faces, and the quality of this fic drops dramatically
> 
> otherwise titled: Um, Rude, He's Worth at _Least_ Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, i can say with complete honesty that after this chapter i have nothing else planned but the ending and am now flying by the seat of my pants
> 
> let's see where this goes, shall we?

The door slamming shut didn’t truly register in his mind, the panic that he was already feeling and the sudden wave of animosity that hit him drowning out all logical thought. Sans was gone, but he  _ wasn’t, _ because if he was gone now then he would be back soon or wouldn’t be back for days and he had no say in the matter. Though the monster that had just tossed a stone at him in casual cruelty wasn’t his brother, but he was, so different and still similar at the same time. Every time he had a thought of certainty it was taken over by his doubt. Nothing was certain. Nothing was stable.

It was terrifying. Unpredictable, threatening, untrustworthy, and Stretch wasn’t sure if he was referring to his situation or to the off-color Sans but it sure as hell suited it either way. Maybe this Sans would kill him. Maybe this other Papyrus would kill him. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe-

A sharp pressure hit the back of his neck, just between two of his vertebrae, running down his spine and across his body, and he sucked in a breath as he tensed, bones still shaking and breathing still quick. The pressure moved, and then came back, repeating the cycle a few times until the motion became almost a soothing, his breathing slowing and the tears slowly clearing from his eyes to show the other Papyrus- though he himself was Stretch, wasn’t he, not really Papyrus anymore, not like he used to be- just in front of him, a hand reached around and holding onto his cervical vertebrae. 

“Are you done?” The other asked, and not wanting to anger him Stretch nodded his head quickly. Boss’s face was blank, searching, and- seeming to find what he had been looking for- he stood, removing his hand and moving back into the kitchen.

Stretch watched him go, taking another shuddering breath as he swiped his hands down his face, letting his arms rest heavy in his lap as he stared at his bare forearms with distaste. He closed his hands into fists and pulled his arms closer to his body, hunched over himself almost in defense as he took in another slow breath, catching in the middle and forcing him to cough to clear his throat. There was no telling how they would react if he continued to panic every time that something went the slightest bit off.

Would they just throw him out in the snow? Possibly. They had gone through a lot of trouble, and there was no telling how much more they would go through before he was no longer worth it to them. (His mind reminded him that he didn’t truly know his worth at all, in their eyes.) Though they likely wouldn’t throw him out in the snow, not with Boss’s clothes on him and the delightful new addition around his neck. He grabbed onto the collar with both hands, a mad laugh slipping through his teeth before he could stop it.

It was still a shock to hear his own voice. Then again, it had been only a few hours- possibly more, since he had no idea how long he was unconscious at the lab with… 

His voice was different somehow, scratchy from disuse and not smoke like it used to be. He hummed once, quietly, just enough to hear his voice clearer. The action hurt his throat and he winced, swallowing and bringing a hand up under the collar to massage at his neck. It wasn’t the nicest to listen to by any means, and part of him almost wished that it hadn’t been given back to him in the first place. Not like this. Not when it wasn’t truly his voice anymore, tainted by the past. His voice was back, and it was gone: it was stuck with him and it was never to return.

A high-pitched whistle came from the kitchen and he looked up, leaning slightly on the sofa to try and get a better look. He didn’t have to try to guess what was happening when Boss came out with a cup of tea in his hands, the water still steaming and the tag still hanging over the side as it seeped. The other held it out, and Stretch took it without question, keeping his gaze lowered as he pulled the mug down to stare at the slowly darkening water, the heat seeping through the glass burning his hands. He tightened his grip.

Boss had walked away after handing him the tea but came back soon after, dragging a chair from what must have been the kitchen table behind him and setting it on the floor, just in front of the couch. He sat in it, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back, looking at him expectantly.

“It’s sea tea,” Boss explained, voice neutral and just above quiet. “Drink it.”

Stretch flinched, bringing the cup up to his mouth and pausing just before taking a sip, his teeth parted and hands shaky. The moment passed and he closed his eyes as he let the burning liquid into his mouth, wincing and barely managing to swallow past the taste.

Sea tea was never really know for its flavor as opposed to its medicinal properties, and he’d been unfortunate enough to suffer down more than one cup of the bitter drink, but this…

It tasted like that time he had been messing around in the dump as a kid, finding a small metal bottle of something from the surface and taking a drink without thinking or reading the label that had bluntly displayed “motor oil.” The magic around his soul churned uncomfortably, and he wasn’t sure whether it was from the memory or the tea itself. Either way he swallowed it down, taking in a slow breath before taking another sip. It wouldn’t be smart to piss the other off any more than he always was.

“Can you speak?” The question shouldn’t have shocked him, but he still tensed up anyways, bringing the mug down and clearing his throat again. It still hurt, but was edging on the borderline of painful, and he could feel it getting better as the tea did what it was known for.

He nodded, and from the corner of his eye he saw the other’s brow furrow in frustration. The lack of using said capabilities to speak wasn’t lost on the other, so he cleared his throat, giving a verbal affirmative.

Boss nodded once, almost to himself, as he sat straighter in the chair, the wood creaking slightly with the movement.

“You said you were from Snowdin. Where.”

Stretch swallowed, holding the half-empty cup in his hands tighter. There was a crack, right where the handle was attached to the cup itself. It must have been glued back on after it broke. “The town,” he said, the words a barely audible rasp. He took another drink of the tea with a wince, at least semi-grateful that it helped to soothe the straining magic around his throat.

Boss just stared at him, not saying anything, though Stretch noticed his hand tighten minutely on his arm. He was angry, then. Angry or frustrated, and Stretch wished that he could give him an accurate answer. Or, at least, an answer that would appease the anger. He wasn’t sure if he was in Snowdin or not, anymore.

“Who had collared you before?” He opened his mouth, then closed it with a quiet click, glancing over to the side and lifting his shoulders in a small shrug. A growl sounded soon after, and he chanced a glance up to see the other glaring at the floor, fingers drumming on his arm.

Boss took in a breath, closing his eyes and shifting in the chair. He opened them again. “What was the machine?”

Stretch coughed. “A… transporter.” That was what the papers had said when he’d skimmed over them once, back in the time before Sans as he really was, going through them with basic curiosity and baseless theories. A transporter, a displacer of matter and information described in cryptic words in a language that he barely knew, spending countless hours in a rare and sudden burst of inspiration pouring over the papers and beginning to repair the damaged husk of a machine that had been in their basement since god knew when. He’d lost interest, eventually, but never forgot. His thankfulness for that fact was still up in the air.

“A transporter to where?”

“...Don’t know.” He swallowed, glancing down at the still steaming tea. Another drink would help, but too much medicine was poison. He took another gulp anyways, tea still hot enough to burn as it rushed through his body, making him gag and tighten his grip. It was stronger than he was used to, but whether that was from wherever the hell he was or the fact that everything Sans- his Sans- gave him only had enough magic to replenish whatever was taken by the collar, he didn’t know. The break on his leg was burning, hot and cold at the same time. “Here,” he ended, filling the silence in some way. It was too quiet, far too quiet.

Boss watched him shift uncomfortably, the analytical gaze making him feel like the other was laying him out, reading into every crack and seeing his every thought. He was terrified, and he was sick of being terrified, but if the other could see that in his mind or posture then he didn’t acknowledge it. This was a hell as well, and maybe the transporter just brought him to a different level of it.

Movement brought him back to reality, and he watched as the other pinched his nasal ridge. The action was annoyed, less angry than frustrated, and Boss gave a small sigh. It was a contrast to the stiff sit of a soldier from earlier, and the look of it, arms still crossed and jaw working in a silent mutter, was enough to almost make him crack a smile. The posture faded, and so did the thoughts.

“You said ‘here’, like you traveled from somewhere else, but you also said you were from Snowdin. I doubt anyone who owned you would keep you locked away without any mention of your,” Boss paused, eyes narrowing in what may have been disgust and hatred, “physique.” He leaned forward, hands coming from where they were crossed to rest on his knees, pinning him with his gaze. “I’ll ask once more, and I expect truth.” The pinpricks of his eyelights were a dark red, but they flared up, and Stretch was reminded once more of his utter powerlessness in the situation.  _ “Where _ are you from?”

He was only aware of just how much he was shaking when the tea from inside the mug spilt over the rim, landing on his fingers and dripping down, quickly soaking into his borrowed pants. “Snowdin but different,” he said, voice shaking as he somehow managed to hold the other’s gaze, unable to look away even as his grip on the mug became tight enough that his fingers were straining to hold it.

“Different how?”

Stretch took a quick breath in through his teeth, the air rushing in leaving slight pain of cold behind. “Less…” He looked to the side. “Spiky.”

The air was heavy with silence after his answer, but he didn’t dare to look up, moving his gaze down to his phalanges. The joints of his fingers were glowing a light golden orange from the strength of his grip, but he couldn’t manage to lessen it. Maybe, if he clenched his hands tight enough, then the already cracked cup would break entirely and the shards of glass would stab through the smaller bones on his hand. He shut his eyes tight, jaw clenching as he managed to wrench his grip away from the mug, setting the glass just between his legs and pulling his hands into his chest.

“Your name is Papyrus, you’re from Snowdin, and you came here using a transporter that supposedly looks just like the one contained in our basement. Do I have that all correct?”

Stretch paused. The voice was incredibly calm, his face void of expression once more. He nodded, keeping his gaze down. The other growled slightly, just under his breath. Wrong answer, then.

“How.” The calm was back.

“I-” he stuttered, throat aching and some part of his mind finding it ironic how long he had wished to be able to speak, yet now sitting down and wanting nothing more than to never be able to utter another word ever again so he didn’t dig his grave any deeper, “I used the machine-”

“I  _ don’t care _ about the damned  _ machine!” _ The other stood, suddenly, the chair under him sliding back a foot, his mouth twisted in anger. Stretch flinched back, staring at the other with wide eyes. Boss seemed to realize himself, moving from where he was leaning forward in posture of attack to take a slow breath. “I want to know how this is all possible.”

Stretch sat up slightly, looking down at the mug sitting between his legs before holding it in his hands once more. “Timelines,” he said quietly, just to give an answer. His throat was burning again.

Boss watched him, moving his arms to cross them over his chest. He seemed to be thinking, anger slowly fading away. “...Timelines.” He nodded slowly, watching for any more signs of fury. “You think we’re from different timelines.” His voice was calm as he attempted to confirm the statement like earlier, and unlike earlier Stretch started shaking before he nodded, waiting for him to lash out once more. The other didn’t, simply reaching back and pulling the chair forward once more to sit, crossing his legs so his ankle rested just above his knee, leaning back and crossing his arms once more.

It was difficult to wrap his head around, the fact that this truly was him- another him, different choices and past, just one of many reflections in a cracked mirror- but it took root as he thought about it more. How the machine was a transporter and not a teleporter, a majority of the cryptic writings on the paper- how the original maker of the machine disappeared entirely from existence. Just his luck that, out of trillions of possible timelines, he had jumped to the one that was…  _ this. _

Though the angel that supposedly watched over the Underground had never truly cared about him, had it?

“You used the machine to escape something.” He flinched, bringing the mug up and taking a sip of the barely more than lukewarm tea. “Or someone.”

The tea was honestly disgusting. He really needed to stop drinking it. 

Stretch nodded slowly, hoping the subject would be dropped. Boss stared at him, as if waiting for a response, before he sighed, head tilting down and eyes closing for a second. For once, hoping had worked.

Boss opened his eyes.

“I take it you’re unfamiliar with the way of life in our… timeline.” He nodded. “Ground rules, then. When in the house, don’t break anything or vomit on my floors again and we won’t have any problems.” Boss shifted in the chair, gaze steeling. “Outside, keep your head down and thoughts to yourself. Refer to Sans and myself as ‘Sir’ and don’t cause a scene.”

He nodded again. There was a pause, and he took in a breath, setting the mug aside and reaching up a hand to tug on his collar. “And… this?”

“Unless you want to get fucked from here to Waterfall, I suggest wearing it at all times.”

Stretch startled into a laugh, just a quick exhale of air and his mouth twitching up, but a laugh nonetheless. There was something darker in the statement, less humor and more genuine warning- and he wasn’t sure whether it was literal or metaphorical and he didn’t want to think about it either way- but he pushed it down for the time being, locked it up for later.

“Are you capable of remembering that?”

His mouth twitched up in a partial grin, chest clenching, and maybe it was the influx of magic he had taken in or maybe he was a step in the direction of feeling comforted after the sheer heaviness of everything else, but a joke came to mind, saying it before he could think. (Because he could. Because he could actually speak and be heard, and hadn’t had to worry about saying anything he would regret for the longest time.)

“N-no bones about it.”

Boss sneered, eye twitching in annoyance- like Sans used to, like Sans-

“Heh, good one,” said Sans’s voice from just behind him, and his previous almost relaxed state was shattered as he shot up and away from the couch, turning to face him even as he tripped over his feet and was on his way down. 

His magic flared and- actually having magic for once- he reached out for the nearest tear and yanked it to him to get away from Sans, not knowing how he found him but needing to get away regardless, wanting to move away to where he would be safe-

It was almost disconcerting, the feeling of a regular teleport, feeling space rush to bend around him to deposit him at another rip. He landed with a grunt of pain, back hitting a pile of something sharp and on an incline, eyes shut tight as he scrambled for purchase as he began to slide down. The motion stopped, the clattering noise ending soon after, and he chanced opening an eye to look around the area.

The smell gave it away, in honestly, and he shouldn’t have been surprised to find that it was the dump. The normally faint sound of rain was drowned out by the clash of the waterfall behind and in front of him, pieces of plastic floating in the water and being carried over the edge of the falls. But it wasn’t just the dump, it was the dump in this- this fallen timeline, where he could be killed just for existing.

Voices were approaching from around the mound of trash he was laying on, splashes and laughter letting him know that they were drawing closer. He swore, bones still clattering loudly and chest burning in panic as he fought to breathe quietly. Stretch stood, fighting to keep his balance as he slid the rest of the way down, wincing as the action knocked over more cans with a series of clanks. The voices quieted with hushed and suspicious whispers, and he clenched his teeth to hold back his noise of panic as he moved away, pressing into the side of the rock face and the soaked garbage, grateful, at least, that his clothes were darker. His hoodie would have made him a beacon.

Not that he had it in the first place.

He pressed further back, the water crashing down onto his shoulders and skull, hitting the injury on the back of his head and sending searing pain lancing through his skull. He clenched his teeth, closing his hand into a fist to fight back any noise the pain would cause. The mud under his hand oozed through the spaces between the bone, chilling it. The water was pounding against his head, making his vision go black and the small amount of magic that he still had left from the tea threatening to be expelled. And then what must have been a piece of garbage was carried by the water to hit his injury, and he felt the bandage knock loose at the same time he felt water start to rush in through the cracks in his skull, feeling the already weak bone give as more pain shot down through his jaw, making him cry out in agony and fall forward.

Water rushed into his sockets and soaked through his already wet clothes, making him push himself up with a cough and a shudder to dispel all the grime. It still clung to his bones and the inside of his skull, though, not so easily rid. He clawed a hand over his sockets, still coughing as he opened an eye, sucking in a breath and pushing himself back in the water when he saw two figures standing in front of him.

“Oh my God, Brat, is that-?” “Catty, I think that’s-”

They both stopped, staring, before they burst into giggles, smacking each other on the arm.

An alligator and cat monster, both looking suspiciously like the two girls who hung out in the alleys near the Capital. With the apparent timelines, they likely were the two.

Catty stepped forward, ears twitching forward slightly, grin fading slightly as they tucked back. She stood straight with a huff, pushing a strand of hair away from her face. “It’s not.”

Bratty looked over her friend’s shoulder, squinting at him. Stretch felt magic brush over his soul as he was Checked. “You sure? They have the same name.”

Catty rolled her eyes. “Please. I, like, know what he looks like, okay?” At her friend’s amused look, she huffed in embarrassment. “Oh my god, shut up!”

Stretch looked between the two in confusion, overwhelmed by their sheer volume and struggling to keep up, the pain hazing over logical thought. Bratty stepped forward and he flinched away, starting to get to his feet, when she grabbed him, pulling him towards the two. He opened his jaw to call for help- or maybe to find some way to bribe with them- when something soggy was shoved into his mouth, making him choke. He tried to spit it out, but his jaw was held shut, and he was far too weak to have any real success in prying the hands from his face, forced to swallow.

The hands let go after that, and he leaned forward, heaving up nothing as he turned to look at the two with teary eyes. In Bratty’s hand was a wet paper bag, with a distorted symbol on the front. It may have just been the ink running, but the symbol looked fairly similar to Nabstabot’s.

“Bratty!” The offended voice drew him out of his thoughts. “That was ours!” 

The taller reached down, giving the other a few light pats on the head. “Chill, we like, get them from Burg all the time!”

Stretch started to stand, keeping his weight off his leg even as the possible food that he was fed sent magic to his body. His head still ached, the pain wrapping all the way around the front of his skull, but he could feel it start to lessen. Even so, opening both eyes to look around himself or to see the two clearer seemed impossible with the lancing pain.

Both girls stopped their talking to stare at him, and Bratty let out a small gasp. “A collar!”

They both rushed forwards, and he made a panicked noise, arms lifting up in defense as they grabbed onto him, not caring much for his injuries as they yanked on the loop of leather around his throat, making him choke.

They were silent for a few, blissful moments before they gave a shrill scream, letting go of him in favor of grabbing onto each other’s hands. He hit the ground hard, crying out in pain as his skull hit a trash mound. The pain made tears start to form in his eyes, despite fighting them down. 

“Oh my God, do you think there’s a reward?”

Catty paused. “Like, maybe? The Lieutenant would likely want his own back if he ran away. It would probably depend on what kind of collared he is.”

Another pause. Stretch started to lift himself up, arms shaky and barely able to support his weight. He managed to get a foot underneath of himself for all of three seconds before the collar was yanked, pulling him up and whipping his head so fast that it made him sick. He wrenched his sockets shut. The dim light of Waterfall was nearly too much, sending what felt like knives slicing across his skull.

“So, like, what kind of collared are you?”

He could hear his bones clicking loudly over the crashing of the waterfall nearby.

“Bratty! You can’t just ask that!”

The area was hazy, and it took him a few moments to realize that it had less to do with the area itself and more to do with the blur that was taking over his vision.

“Oh my God, lay off!”

He turned his head one way, then another, trying to shake off the cloth that felt like it was covering his skull, muting everything. 

“Besides, look at him! Like, he’s totally got the whole aura of the debauched toy!”

More laughter, Stretch falling to the ground once more. He managed to catch himself that time, getting a leg underneath himself and standing, starting to stumble away. It was no surprise when he was grabbed once more, the two still giggling as they looked down at him. “Like, don’t go running off! We have to return you for a reward still!”

He brought his hands up, clawing at the grip on his shirt, weak at first, but getting stronger. He growled, slightly, the vocalization feeling off not entirely because of its lack of use, trying to form a blaster to scare them away. His magic flickered, sparking in the air, before it puttered out. Bratty and Catty stared at him for a few moments before they both looked at each other. They burst into loud laughter once more, the sound grating his skull. “Wow, you’re like, super lucky you got collared.”

“Super lucky,” Bratty repeated, nodding.

They started to walk after that, talking loudly and dragging him behind them. Stretch fought to get his feet under himself, coughing as he splashed in the water, twisting in the grip. God knew where they were taking him, what would happen if he got picked up by someone else, or what they would do if the “reward” wasn’t enough.

The water had soaked him  _ to the bone- _ he coughed out half a laugh, wheezing and still kicking his feet out ineffectively- grit in his joints and bones still rattling. Being dragged around wasn’t anything new, though.

“‘Ey, girls. What trash ya sellin’ this time?”

Stretch cracked his eyes open, struggles stilling for a moment as he looked over his shoulder. Sans was standing there, hands slung casually in his pockets, half a smirk on his face as he looked between the two calmly. The pose was casual, but the posturing was all wrong- shoulders obviously tense and eyelights flickering like he was waiting to defend. Or to attack.

He was dropped into the murky water once more, shivering slightly as he heard the two whisper at each other before turning to face Sans. “We, like, found the Lieutenant's collared here.”

“And we want a reward!”

Something warm dripped down from the back of his head and slowly trailed over his cheekbone.  Bringing a shaky hand up to touch it, pulling it away and looking at it with pain squinted eyes, he saw that it was blood. He brought his hand back down, the blood washing off in the water and curling around his fingers before it dissolved entirely, trying to open his eyes fully. His vision was worse in his right, blurry, though if that was from the pain that made it almost impossible to slacken his jaw or from any actual damage, he didn’t know.

“I’ll take’m from ‘ere,” Sans gruffed out. Stretch heard the familiar jingle of coins, cheery and bright, sloshing steps moving forward after. “Yer ‘reward.’”

One of the two- at this point he couldn’t be bothered to try to distinguish their voices- huffed. “5G?”

He heard Sans snicker. It was quiet. That may just have been his consciousness fading in and out.

“‘Fraid that s’all he’s worth ta me.” There was a pop- the sound of a teleport- before a hand was placed on his shoulder and he was pulled through space, landing heavily on dry ground.

It was calmer where they were, and cooler, the air running over his bones and making him shiver. Somewhere beside him was the faint trickle of water, and whispers sounded out as the time passed on. He laid still, the blood running down his skull drying in sticky trails. The pain was constant, throbbing and stabbing at the same time, though if he stayed still it wasn’t as bad. His leg was hurting again. No rest for the weary.

Something landed on his shoulder- a hand, squeezing the bone- and he flinched away, letting out another cry of pain as the action caused the right side of his face to lock up. Sans- and it had to be Sans, the voice was the same, even if it wasn’t his brother- kept his grip regardless, waiting for him to go rigid from his movements. 

“If ya keep jumpin’ outta yer skin every time I’m near ya, then we’re gonna have an issue.” He snickered after, and even though Stretch caught the pun he didn’t laugh. Probably wouldn’t have been able to even if he wanted. The other muttered, “Tough crowd,” and that did draw a laugh- more of a huff of air- quickly fading into something between a whimper and a groan.

Something hard pressed against his teeth so he shut his jaw tighter, not missing the grumble that came from the other’s chest. “Open yer damn mouth, kid.”

_ (“Papyrus, open up. You need to finish your food. If you don’t eat then you might get sick, and I don’t want that at all! Just. Open your mouth. Okay? Don’t be  _ **_difficult._ ** _ ”) _

His jaw opened almost on instinct, the movement agitating the injury. Something small slipped between his teeth and he closed his jaw, waiting. It began to dissolve in his mouth, the heavy magic that seemed to be in all the food starting to rush to his injuries. It was candy, and it was sweet. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten candy.

It was unhealthy, of course, not nearly as nutritious as other foods; the sugar would rot his teeth and thicken his bones. There were more filling things to eat than honey, better things to eat than pastries. More and better, and always following those two descriptors were unhealthy and worse. He swallowed the candy, the rest of it quickly dissolving into his body and buzzing heavy over his skull.

He cracked open an eye, blearily looking around his surroundings. It was the same room he had woken up in after the blocker was removed, Sans staring down at him with his hands slung in his pockets. His face was calm, blank, but Stretch knew what the other could do while keeping that same face, he knew just how deceiving the look was, he  _ knew. _ And with the violent nature of the other- the whole damned timeline, from what he had seen, and he wondered just what was changed in the past to shift everything so far into hell- there was no doubt in his mind that even worse could be done.

“You can teleport,” Sans stated, still staring at him. He stuttered an affirmative, waiting for the other to lash out and attack him for speaking. The chuckle was unexpected, making him flinch. There was something dark in the laughter. “Just’a lazybones, eh?” He didn’t respond.

Though a response didn’t seemed to be wanted. 

“Do me a favor,” the other said, “and stop actin’ like such’a coward.” Sans’s face was calm once more, wiped clean of the almost amused expression that had slipped across his teeth. “If either of us wanted ya dead, then ya’d be scattered over the rocks right about now.”

Stretch didn’t doubt the fact. “W-why?” He managed to rasp, shutting his eyes after. The blue glow of the single echo flower by the bench, whispering nothing into the air, was almost too much for him.

“It’s more trouble than it’s worth, keepin’ ya.” Sans sniffed, bringing a hand from his pocket to scratch along the edge of his jaw in thought. “But, at this point, yer more trouble dead than alive.”

The moment his life was more trouble, he would be killed. That was what it meant, the hidden meaning behind it. He shut his eyes tighter, curling his knees slightly into his chest. Sans sighed in annoyance, taking a step forward before kneeling beside him.

“Home sweet home,” the other said just before he was dragged through a tear. The trip was short, but the blackness pressing in on him at all sides sent unease prickling down his spine.

The void was almost as cold as the skeleton beside him, but endlessly more consuming. It felt like it wanted to take him apart, scatter him and protect him and destroy him in its depths.

He wished he could get lost in the feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “TELL THE LIEUTENANT I SAID HE’S HOT!”   
> “...”   
> “...”   
> “Catty, oh my God!”   
> “Like, shut up, you have no room to judge!”


	8. Bitch, We Be Shoppin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> be grateful, bitch, this is like a total 35G now? make urself useful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **IMPORTANT**
> 
> note the new tags on the story, y'all. this chapter itself doesn't contain those, but future chapters, as i figure them out, will. i'll still be putting warnings for more specific things in the end notes, and for possible skippable material, but those are just there in general. if you ever see something in a chapter that i've failed to tag or that you feel needs to be mentioned then please let me know!
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QxUcmf8PI4o) that i was listening to, but im not too sure how much it has to do with this chapter or not. its just. a good song.

It was cold when they stopped lurching through space. Stretch took in a slow breath, fingers twitching as he opened his eyes to be assaulted by the light of the kitchen. The tile was quickly chilling his bones through the thin, wet clothes, but the feeling was welcome, the fuzzy chill almost soothing compared to the sharpness of everything around him. 

It was taking him a while to gather himself after coming out of the teleport, though that was likely due to his injury. There was a pressure in his throat, right against his cervical vertebrae, nausea building up bile and sickened magic. He swallowed it down, closing his eyes tight and taking a deep breath, moving his head. The action sent pain lancing across his skull, jaw clenching tight enough to hurt. Voices were sounding off above and around him, that much he was aware of. They were muffled, but there all the same.

A hand rested on his shoulder, the grip firm but gentle and entirely too much. Flinching away from it only brought a new strike of pain, his entire body tensing to where he knew he couldn’t get away. A voice said something, closer to him, and he cracked open a bleary eye to look up at who was speaking.

Boss was staring down at him, face blank, and in his hand Stretch could make out what looked to be food. He winced, shutting his eye and keeping his mouth clamped firmly shut. It was too strong, all of it, like a punch to the gut- ironic, the quick and violent healing. More words were spoken, and he was mid-processing the slightly clearer speech when a thumb pressed into the corner of his jaw, starting to force it open. He made a panicked noise, hands coming up to push weakly against the other, jaw opening wide enough for the bread to be slipped into his mouth.

His teeth clicked together, loud and strong enough that it hurt, the magic of the roll quickly dissolving in his mouth. He swallowed, sucking in a breath as the magic quickly dispersed, all rushing to the cracks in his skull so fast that it made him dizzy and grateful for the fact that he was laying on the ground.

“There,” the other said with a small sigh, “that wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

_ (“See, Papyrus? Nice and easy. You’ll feel better soon, I promise.”) _

Stretch opened his eyes, vision clearer than it was. It may have just been his position on the floor, but the sight from his right eye was fuzzy and uncertain. Boss was crouching just to his side, and Sans was nowhere to be seen. He let out a small sigh of relief, thankful for that much, as he gathered his arms under himself, attempting to stand. He swayed in place, but caught his balance after a moment- a lot easier to do, he found, when two high-pitched screeches weren’t sounding off right beside your head- standing up. 

The magic in the food was odd, he could tell, rushing straight to the gravest injury and expending all the energy on that as opposed to spreading evenly throughout his body. He sighed, shifting a majority of his weight on his good leg as Boss straightened beside him, just staring. His shoulders came up instinctively, waiting for the other to grab him by the neck. Nothing happened.

“Are you capable of making it up to the bathroom on your own?” 

He nodded, watching the other carefully, but he just turned, boots clicking against the tile until they landed on the carpet. The footsteps sounded against the stairs moments later, fading out as they reached the top. He stood in the kitchen, not wanting to leave but not wanting to stay before he forced himself to limp out into the living room. 

Everything about the house was small. The actual size, yes, but that would have been bearable considering that his own house was the same size- considering that his world had consisted of an eight by nine foot area for what seemed like an eternity. The atmosphere itself was less small and more enclosed, tight to the point of him feeling almost claustrophobic. He closed his sockets, letting out a shaky breath as he pressed a hand to his left.

He probably needed to move before Boss came looking for him.

His shuffling steps were loud in the nearly silent house, seeming to echo around the blank space. Though it was likely less “seeming” and more the light sounds actually echoing, the lack of any defining features besides cracks amplifying the sound. Upstairs there was the faint sound of running water, and he moved towards it, leaning heavily on the railing as he limped up the steps, keeping weight off his leg. 

The bathroom door was cracked open, warm light spilling out on the dark carpet of the hallway, and with a small sigh he moved towards it, pushing the door open with a creak. Boss turned to look at him, hands hovering over the sink and wringing a rag of excess water. His face pulled up in disgust, eyes flitting over his clothing before he set the cloth down.

“Take those off,” he said, the corner of his mouth pulled back in a sneer. Stretch looked down at his borrowed clothes, at the muddy water that started to dry and the dirt and blood smeared across his bones. He didn’t have many standards for his hygiene, but that was somewhat crossing the line.

The shirt came off first, and he extended it out to the other, the corner of his mouth quirking up in an almost smile at the way that his face turned down even more, taking the shirt from his hand with two fingers and holding it away from his body in disgust. The other didn’t move after that, staring at him, and Stretch shifted in place as much as his broken leg would let him. He needed to take the loose pants off next, but with a clearer mind he wasn’t entirely comfortable with continuing to strip in front of the other. He would if he was forced to, he knew, if the other gave him no headway- it was easier, like that, to give in to actions but hold onto a sense of self inside, where it couldn’t be broken away and reached- but there was a chance.

Hoping had never helped him, but not giving up hope had yet to harm him.

He brought a hand up, index finger extended slightly to the ceiling, before he moved it in a circular motion.The disgusted sneer dropped off Boss’s face, and after staring at him for a few moments he scoffed. “Are you- We’re the  _ same person.” _

Stretch flinched, but didn’t back down, glancing from the other’s scarred arms to his own with fewer marrs, before looking back up. Boss caught his gaze, eyelights flickering the slightest bit as the bemused look dropped from his face. His jaw clenched, the bone shifting slightly, as he took a few steps forward, and Stretch started to back away with wide eyes before the other passed him harmlessly.

Stretch blinked, standing just to the side of the sink, now alone in the bathroom. Boss’s voice came from outside the door, just around the corner. “Would you mind hurrying so I can fucking wash these?”

Stretch moved into action at that, not wanting to risk the chance that the other would come back in to take that ability away from him, depositing his pants in the hand that was just around the corner.

There was a beat of silence. “Clean yourself off before the magic becomes infected.” Footsteps sounded off as the other moved away to the stairs, presumably to wash the soiled clothes.

The bathroom was silent aside from his breathing. He took a larger breath, air rushing through his nose into his ribcage before he let it out slowly, using the sink as support. He looked up into the mirror as he went to grab the washcloth, hand stopping halfway to grabbing it as his eyes widened painfully.

The cracks on his skull had multiplied, reaching to the edge of his socket, stretching out over near the entire right side of his skull. A few dipped into his socket, and he reached up, brushing a phalange over them just to hiss as the action caused another stab of pain through his skull. Well. He supposed that explained the vision. 

Stretch turned away from stranger in the mirror, nausea rising in his chest as he picked up the cloth and dipped it into the just above warm water. He brought it up to his skull, taking in a shaky breath before closing his injured eye and starting to dab around the cracks, wiping off the dried blood and dirt. It was slow and fairly painful work, but after he got most of it cleaned he moved to the toilet, sitting down and looking down at the dirty splint still over his leg.

The cloth was brown with the filthy water, and with a wince Stretch set the rag aside, bending down to pull at the bindings. He blinked in shock once he managed to get down to the bone itself, lifting his leg slightly and staring at the fracture that stretched across both bones. He’d broken a limb before, of course- he wasn’t the safest kid- but for it to have been only a few days since it had been set and to be healed as much as it was was practically unheard of. Just what the hell was in the food here?

He took the rag, wiping it over the bone to clean the area before he moved on, dipping the cloth into the bin once more before scrubbing the grime off his bones. An actual shower would be nice- a bath would be more practical, since it still hurt enough for it to be hard to stand on his own for too long- but he wasn’t going to complain about being able to bathe himself for once.

The door to the bathroom clicked open, making him jump and drop the rag with a curse.

“I’m going to bandage your injuries. There’s a towel under the sink.”

Stretch shook his head, clearing it, before he moved to grab the towel quickly, laying it over his pelvis and looking up at the door. Boss walked in without much fanfare, getting the same medicinal kit out and going through the various contents before pulling out a roll of gauze and stepping over to him. 

“Hold still.” He wasn’t moving, really, but it was likely just a precaution. Stretch closed his eyes either way, trying not to flinch away as he felt a hand brush just around the injury on his skull. The air moved as the other stepped away, only for him to come right back. Something cold was spread on his skull, right over the worst of the injury, and he hissed, pulling back and bringing his hands up to bat the other away. Boss gave him an annoyed look, and Stretch went to ask him what the cream was before the injury began to prickle with the familiar sensation of healing, the area going numb soon after.

Boss raised a brow, and Stretch moved back forwards, tucking his head down and not moving when more salve was placed over the worst of the cracks, sighing a bit as the tension across his head was soothed. The lid was screwed back onto the unmarked jar that he hadn’t noticed earlier, Boss grabbing the gauze soon after and unrolling a strip.

It crossed over his injured eye, covering a majority of the fresh wound, and Stretch found himself grateful that the cream numbed the area. “Is,” he started, though he regretted the word as soon as it came out of his mouth. The wrapping around his head slowed. “Is it going to scar?”

The wrapping stopped. He heard Boss give a thick scoff. “A part of your skull was only a few steps away from caving in. I would be surprised if it didn’t.”

Stretch looked away, deciding not to say anything after that. A hand ran over his skull, smoothing the bandage down, before Boss stepped away, sorting through the contents of the kit again. There was a small clatter as he pulled out another roll of gauze and two small pieces of wood, setting them on the counter within reach. “Make yourself a splint.”

He turned, leaving him alone in the small bathroom once more. Stretch shifted, reaching down to adjust the towel covering him before he grabbed the wrap, lifting his leg and starting to wrap it. Doing something for himself, for once, was oddly nice, even if it was trying to ensure that he didn’t lose his leg in the unforeseeable future.

The door creaked open once more, and he looked up just as he finished wrapping his leg to see Boss place a different pair of clothes on the sink. Then he was gone, the door cracked open and light spilling into the room. Stretch reached over the sink, pushing aside the med kit and hooking a finger in a fold of the clothes, dragging them towards himself. The material was coarse as he pulled it on over himself, the loose pants well-worn but the long-sleeved shirt scratchy. He fought the urge to push the sleeves up to scratch as much of the bone as he could reach.

He stood, looking down at the pants with distaste before crossing his arms over his chest and hobbling to the door. It was quiet when he stepped out, and he hesitated before making his way to the stairs, moving slowly down them. A shadow briefly flickered in the kitchen, and he took a breath before moving to the doorway. Boss was standing at the stove, a small pot of what looked like soup in front of him. “Sit down,” he commanded, and Stretch was quick to follow, pulling out a chair and placing himself in the seat.

A bowl was soon placed in front of him and, although he wasn’t very hungry, he ate. Chunks of potato floated in the broth, along with a few flakes of spices and a chunk or two of unknown meat. It was still just as harsh to eat, but it tasted good, and taking a few small sips at a time helped it to even out faster.

The door to the basement opened- where his basement had been, at least- and out stepped Sans, face turned down and hand occupied with a stained rag he was using to scrub at what looked like oil on his face. He paused at seeing Stretch, looking from him to the bowl with narrowed eyes. The hand with the rag came down, and Stretch tucked his head in further, drinking more of the broth.

“Are ya sure tha’ he’s gotta eat?”

His grip on the spoon tightened minutely. 

“The sooner his injuries heal, the sooner he can make himself useful. As long as we don’t have any more accidents,” the word was punctuated with a glance to himself, and Stretch pretended not to notice, “we will have enough until the next ration shipment.”

The other didn’t wait for a response before he walked out, making his way to the front door. Sans sniffed.

“The hell are you goin’?”

Boss looked over his shoulder, raising an annoyed brow. “I have duties to attend to. I’ve wasted far too much time on this. I need not remind you of your responsibilities.”

An obvious glance was thrown at him, and Stretch shrunk down more as the action caused Sans to turn and glare at him. “S’cuse me?”

“You’re excused.” He opened the door, adjusting his scarf. “Don’t be late for your duties.”

The door was slammed into the frame, leaving them in silence, and Stretch continued to stare down at the broth even as Sans turned to fully face him. It was still for a few moments. Sans grumbled. “Hurry th’ fuck up.”

Stretch didn’t need to be told twice.

He set the empty bowl by the sink- normal sized, not unusably small- before he made his way to the door, his soul pounding in his ribcage and hands twitchy. Choosing to blame both on the speed at which he ate the food, he continued until he stood just in front of Sans, clenching his hands into fists at his sides. He could feel the other’s gaze moving over him, spiteful and cold. 

“Ya don’ have any clothes a yer own?”

He shook his head, crossing his arms as he tried to hide his borrowed clothing. “No, it’s… all either ripped or bloody.”

A grumble came from the other, too low and quiet for him to understand, and without another word he turned and opened the door, holding it open and looking at him expectantly. Stretch flinched, moving forward as quickly as he could into the snow, the door closing just after him. Sans took a few steps in front of him, grabbing his hood and pulling it halfway up before he paused, letting it fall back to his shoulders. He turned his head to look at him from the corner of his sockets. “Keep yer head down ‘n stay close.”

He started walking before he had a chance to process the words, his eyes widening as he went to catch up. The town was near barren, the few monsters that he could see huddled in small, miserable groups or peering suspiciously out of a window. He shuddered, quickening his steps and ignoring the way that the stared seemed to pin him from all sides. If given the chance, he was almost certain he could stop and point out the exact places all across himself where the stares were burning holes into his bones.

Not noticing that they had stopped, he nearly bumped into Sans, earning him a glare. The other nodded sharply to the entrance to the shop they were standing in front of, and with only an ounce of hesitation he pushed open the door, stepping into the dimly lit shop and looking around. 

It was small, nearly barren, and if the heavy atmosphere didn’t make him feel trapped then the thick metal bars over the windows did. A hand shoved him in, forcing him to stumble a few steps further into the shop, and he heard the door close behind them soon after.

“Huh. So they really weren’t kidding.”

Stretch looked quickly over to where the voice came from, meeting eyes with a bunny sitting behind a counter, boredly twirling a pen between her fingers. Her gaze was moving over him slowly, lingering just around his neck, and he fought the urge to grab onto it in hiding.

Sans shoved him further into the shop, rolling his head on his shoulders. He seemed relaxed- almost cocky. “What? Don’ tell me yer havin’ doubts ‘bout the rumors in town, are ya?”

Stretch shifted uncomfortably as the bunny sighed, ears twitching where they laid flat on her head. Her hands came up, adjusting the thick sweater around her neck, before she went back to toying with the pen. “I’ve heard more than one untrustworthy rumor.”

Sans grinned, like he was enjoying every second of the uncomfortable setting around them, before he turned to look at Stretch. “Grab a different shirt er jacker er some shit.” When Stretch just stared at him blankly, the grin slipped from his face, eyelights flickering in annoyance. “Sometime today’d be nice.”

He turned quickly at that, moving to the small rack of clothes that was hanging up and quickly sorting through the items. He kept an eye on Sans, not missing the way the other soon turned back to the bunny, talking in quieter tones. Her face was closed off and blank. Stretch shook his head lightly, injury over his eye throbbing and sending another wave of nausea as he turned his head too quickly.

He closed his available socket, fist clenching around the cloth he had in his hands as he focused on staying standing, waiting for the pain to ebb away before he cracked his socket open. In his hand was a hoodie, the sleeves cut off halfway down the arm, the same set of black and gray that seemed to make up every inch of the timeline he was in. He sighed, rubbing the material between his fingers as his other hand trailed down, tugging at a string that was hanging from the pocket.

Without thinking about it, he pulled the cut off hoodie from the hanger, making his way up to the register. The conversation between the two stopped before he reached them, the bunny scribbling something down on a notepad before looking up at him. “30g.”

Sans scoffed, and Stretch didn’t miss the way that the bunny’s paws flinched at the sound, but he pulled a bag of gold out anyways, counting out the amount and tossing it on the counter. The bunny scraped it up quickly, like she was afraid it would disappear otherwise, and without another word Sans turned, making his way to the door and opening it to the cold Snowdin air once more.

He hurried over, feeling the same lurching feeling of a teleport as he stepped out of the doorway to land in the middle of the forest. He looked around, seeing the gate just behind him, the bars sturdy but wide enough that a child could slip through. “Put on th’ fuckin’ jacket.”

He flinched at the reminder that he wasn’t alone, meeting the irritated gaze of Sans for only a second before he quickly slipped it on over his head, the fabric brushing against his head and sending a spark of pain to his body even through the bandage.

The path they followed was well-worn, countless different footprints leaving their trail in the snow to the point he couldn’t distinguish between them. It was similar to when he would travel to his own station, and the thought of the past made his soul clench uncomfortably. If Sans noticed, he didn’t care, stepping under the dented tin roof with a bored sigh, moving to sit on a splintered wooden stool.

Stretch stood beside him, hands opening and closing into fists, before he shoved them in his pocket, tucking his head down and placing his back against the wall. He slid to the ground, tucking his legs up as he closed his eye, keeping his breathing calm. The familiar sound of a lighter flicking on caught his hearing, and he cracked his eye open to see Sans holding the flame to a cigarette, lighting the end and taking a drag before dispelling the smoke into the air.

His hands shook at the comforting smell of his vice, teeth tingling at the thought of chewing on the butt of a spent cig again. Stretch closed his hands into tighter fists, fingertips digging into his own hand hard enough to hurt as he forced himself to think of anything else-

Something light hit his face, making him start slightly and blink in incomprehension at the item now resting in his lap. It was an unlit cig, the yellow and white paper a comforting sight, as it usually was. He picked it up, turning to roll over in his hands before pressing a fingertip right to the end where the cherry red cinder would slowly burn down to his fingertips. Small and bright at dangerous, the same fearful color as the eyelights of the skeleton beside him. Clouds of smoke hung menacingly around his skull, thin wisps making their way up from his sockets.

Sans- his Sans- would never smoke, not even with his horrific new mindset. Both of them were threatening, untrustworthy, but that was the only trait they seemed to share. The main trait, the most threatening and unsafe trait, was one that they both had. 

Stretch closed his socket, holding the cig between two fingers and bringing it slowly up to his mouth. He didn’t ask for a light, and Sans didn’t offer, the filter hovering just in front of his teeth. He wanted to take it and chew on the end, just to do so, but couldn’t, face twitching before he brought his hand back down and put the cig in his pocket.

His fingers closed around the rim of his hood, lifting the fabric over his head and using his hands to press it into the sides of his skull, tucking his head further down. Like this, he could almost pretend the suffocating silence was because the hood was muffling the quiet noise of his surroundings.

Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> raise your hand in the comments if you want me to just skip to the fucking action already, because _i sure know that i do_


	9. I Don’t Think You’re Being Very Ration-able

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everyone's favorite lesbian (aka the real reason you're reading this fic, right?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ug5choUf4nM) for the chapter
> 
>  
> 
> **READ END NOTES FOR WARNINGS**

 

Leaving the house was far from an intelligent decision, he knew, as was leaving Sans in charge of Stretch, but he had dragged the other through enough as it was. Sentry duty would be a needed break for him, out along the far outskirts of Snowdin where fewer fights broke out and there was less of a chance for him to be injured. Unless Sans proved to be as careless and lazy as everyone assumed- it was just an assumption, of course, but the chance was still there- Stretch should be fine. There was no reason for him to allow himself to be so weak as to worry about the other in anything other than how his appearance now affected his standing in town.

If he could pull it off, continue along with slight adjustments due to the third person sleeping on their floor, then it would only help. A low LV, softer, and weaker, and staying protected under his name, his ability to command would only be solidified. No matter how much watching the other- a version of himself, in some twisted respect- flinch away and cower down was rage-inducing. It could and would be worked on. It was nothing to worry about, at the moment.

One step at a time.

He walked through the town, finally alone as he could be, eyes scanning the area in front of him. The snow in front of shops and houses was clear, no signs of struggle or hurried steps, and the occasional flinch of one of the townsfolk as they walked was less from imminent danger and more from constant wariness. It was safer, but far from perfect.

The few monsters walking about dipped their heads in respect as he walked past, and those that didn’t averted their gazes as he met the stares head-on, deigning to keep from being targeted.

The snow wasn’t scheduled to fall for another day, so when he left the boundaries of the town the path was clear to see. He crossed the wooden expanse of the bridge, not making a sound louder than his breathing, as he watched the treeline.

According to Sans, the other machine had crashed somewhere in the woods, buried in the snow and dirt to where he knew that there was no chance the crater had disappeared in the few days since Stretch had been there.

Papyrus clenched his fists momentarily, taking in a longer breath before letting it out just as slow. Despite his curiosity- his  _ need _ to know just what the hell was going on from every view, because interrogating the other had left him with far more questions than answers- he knew that Alphys would be watching in the cameras that lined the treeline. He had shown enough interest, enough caring, for it to have become dangerous. Continuing to do so would get them killed.

So no matter how infuriating it was to have his questions brushed aside, or to receive confusing answers, no matter how much he wanted to throw the other against the wall and ask him just why the fuck he was so afraid of Sans and just  _ where the hell had he come from, _ he refrained. The vague answer of timelines was enough to occupy him, at least until he was able to obtain more information to satisfy himself. It was enough information to make assumptions that caused him to want to take time to prepare himself for the truth.

The thin treeline slowly stretched away on either side as he continued to walk, the station just ahead causing him to step louder to alert the other. When Doggo came into view, his nose was twitching and fingers were shaking. The acrid smell of smoke filled the air. The other closed his hand into a fist, slamming it into his chest with a hollow thud that was enough to make his eye twitch.

Papyrus didn’t have to ask before Doggo grabbed a stack of papers, extending them out with his left as his right stayed in a salute. He also didn’t need to ask, but he did anyways, to be safe. “Anything unusual to report?”

“No sir!” 

Papyrus nodded. “At ease.”

It was to be expected that nothing was amiss. The paperwork was merely a formality in the first place. He had been to the capitol enough to know that the papers were used for little more than to give the citizens bare, baseless comfort. They were lucky if the papers for anything other than a human sighting reached the castle to become kindling.

He briefly scanned over the papers as he walked, looking at the various counts from the Dog Squad, nothing out of the ordinary. Unsurprising, but their duty had been done until he had to pick the papers up next time. Undyne was likely to be upset about the lack of news, but that was nothing new either.

Stowing the papers in his inventory, he set his shoulders back and continued to walk down the path to where he had some of his traps set up. The traps were more for show than anything, even he knew that. Yet, even so, something about working with the intricate mechanics of the traps was cathartic. It was tedious work, but it passed the time as he cleaned and greased the gears and recalibrated puzzles. If a human ever did come through, then they would be ready.

He stopped just before one of his traps, looking over the area, the snow kicked up and the spikes having been activated. There was no real sign of a struggle, and he almost would have brushed it off had it not been for the vague shimmer of dust reflecting the dim light of the cavern. Papyrus tightened his jaw, taking a few more steps forward and looking down at the trap, at the gears that would have to be cleaned of the powder, at the spikes that he’d set up and that he’d activated and what he’d caused.

A light breeze rolled through the area, catching a few grains and pushing them away, as if trying to carry them away.

Papyrus pulled out his phone, tapping the number at the top of his contacts and waiting. The line picked up.

“Dust collection unit.”

His grip on the phone tightened. “Report to Snowdin Forest, just after marker number three.”

An affirmative was given, and the line clicked off. Efficient. He held the phone up to the side of his skull for a moment longer before he pocketed it once more, swallowing once before walking over to the side, where the footprints had come from.

Set off in the snow was a pair of tinted glasses, folded neatly and set atop a small pile of white. ‘Chilldrake’ was written along the side in a small and smooth script. Papyrus picked them up, turning them over in his hands, before looking down at the marching, calm footprints that led to where he knew the trigger was.

No monster would be nearly stupid and unaware enough to just walk into a trap without being aware of the mechanics of it, and even if he did change the way that they were arranged, all of Snowdin was more than aware of the general location of the traps and the dangers of them. 

The other had walked into the trap willingly. Knowing. It wasn’t a mistake.

Off in the distance, he heard the sound of crunching snow signaling the unit’s approach, and he turned to meet them as he dropped his hand. The group of bunnies stopped just before him, ears twitching and noses shaking as they waited for orders.

He took in a slow breath, speaking strongly as he gestured to the trap with the aviators. “There’s dust clogging the gears. Get it out of here and return it to the Drakes.”

They went to work without a word, quickly sweeping up what they could into an unmarked jar before pulling out small vacuums, clearing out the rest until it was as if it was never there at all. The bunnies gathered in front of the trap once they were done, the leader sweeping away a few remaining specks of dust with a gloved paw before she turned to him, giving a salute. The movement was robotic, more out of habit than anything, her eyes and the eyes of her group sunken in and hollow despite their relative youth. 

Papyrus nodded in response, extending the glasses out the the bunny. She took them gently before turning to look over her shoulder, and with an unspoken agreement the group moved at once back the way that they came. They came and left without a word and with barely a whisper of sound. For that, Papyrus was grateful.

He turned back to the trap once their forms had faded out of sight, looking at the now-clean mechanics, tapping his index finger against his femur once before me moved to reset the trap. It was like clockwork, easy to get lost in. He pulled back the spring mechanism, adjusted the path, reset the snow that covered the solution to the deadly puzzle. One step followed another, his hands staying busy, and before he knew it he was stepping back from the trap and looking over the setup critically.

It was set up just as it had been the last time that he’d calibrated it. With a sigh, he moved forward, going to continue to adjust it until he could be satisfied with the new arrangement, when he was interrupted by an alert on his phone. He glanced down at his side, weighing the ramifications of not answering the call, before he grit his teeth and answered.

“Captain.”

“Asshole,” Undyne responded, voice jokingly pleasant. He scowled, but before he could respond in turn she spoke again. “Get your bony ass to Waterfall.”

He grit his teeth. “I’ll send one from the Dog squad to bring you the paperwork.” He had other traps and puzzles to calibrate (to check, they always seemed to come in pairs) and he didn’t have time in the day. She knew this.

“That’s an order, Lieutenant.” 

His grip on the phone tightened. Undyne’s voice was clipped, something woven into her words. Shoving down his frustration he gave an affirmative, holding the phone to the side of his skull longer than was needed after the call clicked off, staring down the path. He would come back to it later, he swore to himself.

The footprints the unit had left when they had returned back to Snowdin were unhurried, dragging, and with a final glance back over the trap he followed them at the same slow pace. The walk back was uneventful, edging on the side of boring, the trees occasionally shaking their branches when a breeze rolled through.

He was just about to move onto the gauntlet bride when the snow just in front of his feet shifted, cracking at the surface. He stiffened, staring at it and lowering his stance slowly, when a familiar shade of yellow broke through, sending clumps of snow off to the side. Flowey shook of his petals, the beady eyes set within the center of his face glancing anxiously around before he turned up to look at him with a grin.

“Howdy, Papyrus!”

He straightened, fists clenching tightly. “Move.”

The flower’s grin stayed. “Nothing’s stopping you from walking around me.”

Papyrus glanced over to the treeline, to where he knew cameras were watching. Though, if Alphys had truly cared about what he knew to be an escaped experiment, then she would have shown up or sent out a demand long ago. Among the trees he glimpsed spiked vines moving slowly over the snow. His gaze trailed back down to the grinning flower just in front of him, the one who spoke openly of Mercy and kindness yet was ever-aware of his surroundings. 

Flowey was obnoxious, but nowhere near stupid. 

“What do you want.”

The petals framing his face wavered in the air, his head bobbing slightly on his stem. “Something new happened.” He winked, sticking his tongue out. “And I’d think you know best about it, don’cha?”

Papyrus scowled, stepping off to the side to continue his trek to the Captain’s, only to have Flowey dip into the snow and pop up in front of him once more. The smile was gone. “A lot of talk has been happening about your new collared.”

Another step to the side. Flowey followed. “About how you’re becoming soft.”   
He grit his teeth. “Just repeating whatever you hear? I wasn’t aware that you were an Echoflower.”

A laugh filled the air, childlike and almost mechanic. Flowey winked. “Us flowers, we know all the gossip!” The laughter stopped and the smile fell once more, the features on the flower’s face shifting into something almost concerned. The expression matched the hesitant tone. “There’s something… different about this one, isn’t there? He’s never shown up before.”

“Is there not a chance that you just haven’t seen him until now?” He knew Flowey wouldn’t buy it.

A laugh. “No. There’s no chance of that.” The petals shifted in the breeze. “This is different,” he reaffirmed. Flowey always seemed to enjoy things being different.

“Move,” he stated again, and this time Flowey did as he demanded, head staying above the snow as his stem cut a path through the white.

Papyrus was already moving across the bridge when Flowey started speaking once more. “I’ll see you around, Papyrus!” He didn’t respond. “Let the other you know that I would  _ love _ to meet him sometime soon!”

At that he did turn, head swiveling as he snapped his gaze to where the voice came from. The area was empty. Flowey had already left. He shoved the encounter from his mind, fighting down and ignoring the pit of  _ something _ in his chest at what the flower said. It wasn’t worth thinking about.

The sign at the entrance of the town was beat down and faded, the wood rotting and the paint on the front chipping and peeling away to leave colorful flakes stark against the snow. One of the delinquent teenagers had painted over the saccharine ‘Welcome’ in the ‘Welcome to Snowdin’, leaving a ‘fuck off’ in their wake. Papyrus glanced at it as he walked past. Even if they had room in the sparse budget for the town (the small scraps of gold that would occasionally manage to make it all the way from the King’s greedy hands to the struggling town) he wouldn’t have bothered to paint over the graffiti.

A few patrons were walking into Grillby’s for lunch, the door opening and throwing a faint glow against the melting snow just outside. The warmth of the bar quickly dispersed in the chill air, but the greasy scent of burgers and fries stayed, clinging to the inside of his ribs with every breath and making him bite back a scowl. He moved by quickly, making his way to the Riverperson’s dock.

A bear grumbled as he walked by, and Papyrus threw a glance to make sure there was no threat. “Tell a skeleton about what needs to be changed, and he tells a fish, and nothing happens. That’s politics for ya.” The mouse standing next to him nodded solemnly.

Papyrus rolled his eyelights subtly as he continued on, coming to the small clearing and stopping just before the river. The boat was missing from its usual place (likely the Riverperson taking another set of passengers somewhere underground) so he stood at attention, folding his arms behind himself and staring at the frigid waters.

He stood there for a breath of a moment, the flat calm of the water occasionally broken by leaves hitting the surface, floating still before the current carried them down the river, alongside the bobbing pieces of ice. The ripples of the current increased, and Papyrus refocused his attention to see the boat pull up, stopping just in front of the land. He stepped in, the wood dipping under his weight before it settled. Riverperson inclined their head in his direction.

“Waterfall.”

They turned back to the front of the boat, humming a single note as they began to move, traveling out of Snowdin and into the dark caverns of Waterfall. The dim atmosphere was occasionally broken by the light of echo flowers from cracks in the cave walls alongside them, bathing the area in a soft blue glow.

Papyrus kept a close eye on the cloaked individual swaying to the tune of their own song, watching the faint wisps of magic trail up from them as they used it to pilot the boat. Whatever small amount of trust he’d had for them had vanished the moment they went away from their script. Within the deep void of their hood there were no expressions to read or body language to dissect.

The boat rocked on the waves. Papyrus watched the cloak move with it.

They slowed and then stopped, resting just in front of the shore at once of the docks. The Riverperson said nothing, as was usual, staring straight ahead and continuing along with their singing. Papyrus stepped out of the boat with a glare in their direction, rolling his shoulders before he made his way to the Captain’s house, the haunting tune trailing after him.

As he entered the small cavern that her house was set back in, he looked around, seeing the fresh gouges of magic surrounding the training dummy that sat off to the side. She was pissed about something, then. 

What else was new.

He rapped on the metal door, standing in wait for only a few moments before she swung it open, her eye glancing suspiciously around the area before she stepped aside, letting him in. He crossed his arms over his breastplate, turning to face her. “What is it.”

The almost-question went ignored, Undyne reaching up to her hair and pulling it out of its ponytail. The strands fell around her face, a few of the feelers hidden within swishing back and forth in the air before she pulled them back up once more, jerking her chin at the table with a grin. “Grab a seat if you can still sit with that stick up your ass.”

Taking in a slow breath, he sat, busying himself by reaching into his inventory and pulling out the Snowdin reports. He stacked the paper, hitting it against the wood of the table a few times to straighten out the stack before he set them down in the middle of the table. Undyne grabbed them as she walked past, stopping just at the other corner of the table and looking over them uncaringly.

With a nod, she tossed them back into the center of the table, the papers spreading out and stacked unevenly. Papyrus felt the scar across his eye throb slightly at the sight, gathering the papers up with a huff and straightening them out once more.

Undyne snorted at his reaction, throwing a kettle of water on the stove before grabbing two mugs. She pulled a small box out of one of the drawers, grabbing a tea bag that was stained from overuse and tossing one into each of the mugs. Papyrus set the now-neat stack in the center of the table once more, looking over the setup on the counter with a scowl. “If we’re just going to have a tea party then I’m afraid that I have much more important matters to attend to.”

He started to stand, only to swear and jump back as Undyne’s magic flared, a spear slamming in the center of the table and breaking it in half, sending papers flying in every direction. It was silent for a few moments before it was broken by the shrill whistle of the kettle. “Sit back down, scrapper.”

He stared at the papers scattered on the ground before looking up to meet her eye with an annoyed glare. She burst into laughter, cackles quickly filling the small space as she poured the water into the mugs, carrying them over. Papyrus took his, looking down at the weak tea before hooking the chair with his foot, pulling it back out to sit.

She grinned, sharp teeth flashing in the light. “So,” she started, holding the mug up to her mouth. “How are things?”

Papyrus heaved a sigh, resting the hand with the mug on his leg as he used the other to pinch his nasal ridge. “I am not having this fucking conversation.” Not again.

Another round of laughter burst from her mouth, lips pulled to the side in a smirk as she took a sip of the tea. “Alphys said he was a low LV,” she continued, ignoring him. “I’d love to meet him sometime.”

He downed the bitter tea quickly, fighting back a gag at the taste and setting the empty mug down on the broken table. “Did you just call me here to inquire into my personal life, or is there actually something important you wanted to speak about?”

The smirk fell, her lip twitching as she took another drink of the tea. “Both, actually.”

She switched to hold the mug with one hand, using the other to reach back into her pocket and pull out a familiar envelope. Extending it across the table to him, her face was hardened, expression schooled into a familiar coldness. He took the paper, peeling it away from the tacky webbing of her fingers before cutting it open with a claw, looking inside.

He pulled out the notice attached to the ration stamps, reading over it quickly before folding it, placing it back inside. “They’re decreasing the rations,” he said.

Cold anger was sitting in his chest, the envelope in his hands crackling softly as his grip tightened. He forced himself to calm. They’d decreased the rations before, to better spread out the food. Sans and himself had managed then and, even with an extra mouth to feed, they would manage once more.

Undyne shook her head, reaching into her inventory and handing him a different envelope. He looked up at her before setting his own to the side, taking it and reading the other letter. He read it again. And again. And again, the words branded into his mind, even as he snapped his gaze away from the paper to look at Undyne.

She took in a breath, confirming the paper. “My rations are the same. But your-” she stopped herself, looking over to a small crate to the side full of the other ration allotments before correcting her words. “All of  _ Snowdin’s _ rations have been cut. Even more than your own.”

He stared at the splintered wood of the crate, at the letters held inside. “Why only Snowdin?”

He handed the ration card back to her, watching as she flicked it into her inventory with a sigh and another gulp of tea. “I don’t know.” Her eye moved up to him. “There’s a guard meeting with the King tomorrow. Mandatory.” She frowned. “I’m letting you know ahead of time so you can prepare for the town’s reaction when they find out.”

He nodded, slowly, gaze moving back to the crate. Tension was building in his soul, thinking over what that could mean.

Papyrus was certain nothing good would come from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNINGS:** non-graphic minor character death, implied suicide (if you want to avoid this stop reading at "He stopped just before one of his traps" and start again at the single line with “Captain.”)
> 
> things are startin to get cooking, huh? (spoiler, the rations are being thinned because the king is actually a Cool Guy and is throwing papyrus a birthday party! lol like everything is going great)


	10. *Insert Clever Title Here*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a trek to the capitol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so im going to say this once 
> 
> **CHECK THE NEW TAGS ON THE FIC FOR ANY POSSIBLE TRIGGERS**
> 
> i would have posted them all at once, but until now i only had a vague direction of where the story was going. however, these new ones should cover most of it (and even then, in the chapters where they happen, im going to put warnings of the situations in the end notes), and if you see anything else that ive failed to tag then feel free to let me know!
> 
> _______________
> 
> [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AZ1pHmWhIuY) for the chapter
> 
> **WARNINGS IN END NOTES**

 

Days tended not to have much meaning to him. Time that passed lasted an eternity whether it was an hour or a day, and the time that had passed was all the same since he was never able to tell how long it had been in the first place. Stretch would always count, though, when sleep didn’t come easy and being awake was blank. Sometimes he would start from one, and sometimes he would start where he last left off, but he would count up as long as he could regardless.

Staring up at the ceiling of the small room he was put in every night- more of a closet, really, four small walls that he could easily touch all at once if he stretched out, though if that was because it was more of a closet or representative of the military-like style that filled the rest of the house, he had no idea- he reached 20,264 before the door clicked open, spilling dim light into the room. 

It was almost too bright, making him have to squint his eye to adjust from the dark atmosphere. When he finally did, blinking up at the silhouette, it was Boss that was standing over him, his arms crossed and face impassive. He sat up, standing from the small pile of scratchy blankets that served as his bed and quickly shoving both of his hands in the pocket on the front of the-  _ his _ hoodie. Boss moved to the side, keeping a close eye on him as he stepped out before shutting the door behind him.

“There’s food downstairs. Take one.”

Stretch nodded, making his way down the stairs as one of his hands absentmindedly reached up to trace around the bandage covering his eye. He winced as a particularly hard press sent a shot of pain down his jaw, bringing his hand back down in his pocket with the other. A loud banging came from upstairs.

An almost-smile flickered across his face for a brief moment as shouts of “wake the fuck up” sounded from the other, old and fond memories making their way to the front of his mind before he could stop them. They tasted bitter, in his thoughts, and the fleeting expression was gone as soon as it came, leaving him numb and tired. Maybe he should have slept instead of lying awake and staring at nothing.

It was a small mercy that, aside from the topic, the shouts coming back and forth from upstairs were nothing like what used to be his.

Stretch stopped in the entrance to the kitchen, looking at the two small plates of food that were sitting on the counter. He stepped forward and grabbed one, holding it and staring at the table for a few small moments before he went to sit slowly at the splintered chair, the wood creaking under his weight. He stared down at the flakey biscuits and dried meat that was sitting on the plate, swallowing. His eyes flicked over to the entrance to the kitchen, listening to the shouts that were still coming from upstairs, before he looked over to the cabinets.

He swallowed, the action reminding him of his painful thirst, before standing up quietly, hurrying his way over to the cabinets. He paused, opening one and glancing around the nearly-bare inside before moving to the next. He had just pulled it open when he heard footsteps enter the kitchen, stopping just inside.

The shouting had ended, and he’d been too stupid to notice.

He flinched down under their combined stares, quickly shutting the cabinet and backing away. “I was looking for a- a glass,” he explained. His gaze flicked over to the faucet to his right before he shifted back another half-step. 

Boss strode forward. “Sit down.”

Stretch moved to do as he’d asked (commanded, really), gripping the sides of the chair as Sans moved to sit beside him, snatching his plate from the counter. As he pulled the chair out, he reached over and snatched one of the biscuits from his plate, shoving it in his mouth before moving onto his own food. When Boss turned back around with the water from the tap, Stretch had already started on his food, tearing a small piece of the biscuit off. It was as dry as it looked, but packed full of magic to the point of it almost being too much for him to handle.

He swallowed regardless, giving a quiet thanks when the glass was set in front of him.

“Hurry and eat. We’re going to the capitol.”

Stretch paused, eyelight flicking up to Boss. His gaze was directed at the fingers of his gloves, slowly turning his hands back and forth in what looked to be boredom. The posture was off, though, his body tense.

“‘We’?” The word was muffled around the half-chewed food in Sans’s mouth, but still distinguishable.

Boss took in a breath. “Stretch and I,” he clarified. Sans went still at that, though his hands tightened on the food. A few crumbs fell from the biscuit to the plate. “You’re staying in town. Sentry duty.”

The growl that came from Sans made him flinch, reaching a shaky hand out to the glass of water to take a drink. “Yer wanting ta take him ta the fuckin’ capitol? Jus’ dust’m now and save yerself the trouble.”

Stretch stopped, trying to keep his bones from rattling even as a shot of fear rendered him immobile. The hiss from Boss drew him out of his mind before his vision could fade to black.  “You know as well as I do that Snowdin is frequented by the scum of the capitol, more often than not. Collars aren’t often checked, and sight will only confirm whatever rumors have already started to spread.”

Stretch passed the glass from one hand to the other, focusing on keeping his breathing steady. It was cold under his fingers, and looking at the water closer revealed that it was slightly cloudy, like it wasn’t entirely filtered. He drank it anyways, not wanting to have it taken away for the slightest complaint.

“Really?” Sans leaned back in the chair, hooking his foot around the leg of the table to keep himself up. The wood creaked but otherwise offered no protests. Sans brought a hand up to his face, gnawing on the tip of one of his fingers as his expression hardened and closed off. For a brief moment, Stretch thought he saw a flash of blue eyelights with the cold grin.

The moment passed.

“Ya sure it ain’t just cuz ya wanna make sure that every monster n’ their kid know ‘bout yer new  _ collared _ ?” He spat the word, arms coming down to cross over his chest. Boss clenched his fists hard enough that Stretch could hear the small creak of the leather gloves from where he was sitting.

Boss sucked in a breath, breathing hitching slightly in the middle with fury as his eyelights guttered out for a moment. The anger rushing off of him in waves filled the small space, and Stretch flinched down into his hoodie, trying not to jerk away when Sans’s chair dropped to the floor with a thud. The tension lifted all at once, though it still hovered in the air just above their heads. “If I were willing to stoop to your level, then I would point out that  _ you _ were the one who placed us in our current situation.”

Sans opened his mouth, to argue back or to snarl, Stretch didn’t know, before he closed it with an audible click. Boss looked down at his gloves, pulling on them to adjust before striding out of the room. “We’re leaving in five minutes.” The gaze that he threw Stretch’s way made him glance away, back down to the scratched exterior of the glass. “Finish eating.”

The tone left no room for argument, not that he would have argued, and soon he was alone in the kitchen with Sans, trying to ignore the way the other was watching him like he wanted to kill him. Sans stood, suddenly, chair scraping across the tile as he took his empty plate, reaching over and snatching the last piece of meat from his plate as he went, biting into it with a glare. The golden tooth flashed in the light. Stretch just took a drink of the water, standing and taking his empty plate to the sink to set it on top of the other one with his glass- Sans would have hated that, but this Sans did it so it had to be fine, it was alright- before making his way out of the kitchen.

Sans shoved past him, shouldering him  _ hard _ on his way to the door as he yanked it open. The familiar, stiff feeling of a teleport came as he walked through the doorway, and before the door shut he could already see that the other was gone. If Boss was bothered by the conversation earlier then he didn’t let it show as he unlooped the leash that always seemed to be clipped to his belt, holding it up. Stretch eyed it before he moved his gaze down to the rough fibers of the carpet, tilting his chin up to let the other have better access to the clip on the front.

It was over quickly, and he was grateful for that small mercy, following after the other as he strode out the door and clicked the locks shut behind him. They were silent with the town as they moved to where the Riverperson docked. The only sound was the soft crunch of their feet in the packed snow and the occasional clink of the tag on the front of his collar hitting against the clip of the leash.

The boat bumped against the shore with a small thump, and Stretch tried to ignore how the void of the hood was once more pointed directly at him, feeling eyes all over his body even as he sat almost entirely alone. Boss stepped in beside him, the boat swaying on the water before it adjusted to the new weight, sitting as still as the cloaked figure in front of them.

The other didn’t sit, posture rigid as he stared back at the Riverperson. A hand came down to rest on his shoulders, and Stretch tensed before he realized that it was Boss, the other moving to the back of his neck and wrapping a hand around his collar. His own hands came up, resting against the front of it, keeping his gaze on the Riverperson until they gave a low hum, turning around and continuing their song.

“Hotland.” Boss stated, and he waited until they dipped their hood to sit down, taking his hand away from his collar to rest on one of his knees.

The boat started away from the riverside, slicing through the water and cutting a path downstream. Stretch kept his head tucked down, looking at his reflection in the rippled water, staring at the bandages wrapping his face and the few cracks and scrapes that weren’t covered own the visible portions of his bones. He looked away. The sleeves on his shirt were tugged down so they covered as much of the scarred portion of his wrists as possible. He glanced up at Boss as they rode through waterfall, the other having yet to tear his glare from the back of the Riverperson’s hood, like he could cause them to burst into flames from the sheer strength of his glare alone. 

The thought made his mouth twitch in a smile that was gone as soon as it came. It had still come in the first place, and he brought a hand up to trace his phalanges along the side of his mouth that had stretched in his amusement before he brought it back down to his lap, placing it in his pocket.

They reached Hotland quickly, the steam rising from the water threateningly, dispersing where they moved through it. Boss made him step out first, turning to watch the Riverperson until they pulled around the corner and out of sight. The end of the leash that was clipped around his neck was wrapped around Boss’s hand a few times, shortening the length. Stretch hadn’t been lagging behind to begin with- not with the way that threatening stares seemed to stick to his back- but the leash offered even less slack. If he got any more than a step behind then it would choke him.

Stretch made sure to keep pace, speeding up to walk closer as they passed by the heat-cracked exterior of the labs. They reached the elevator quickly enough, the two guards standing on either side of it taking a step away to give them a wider birth. The doors sealed behind them, cutting off the distant thud of machinery and gears to wash them in ringing silence. Stretch glanced up at Boss, but the other seemed more than content to stay quiet. 

He swallowed. “Where are we going in the capitol?” 

Red eyelights flicked to him briefly before looking away. “The royal courts.”

Vague. Maybe it had been something in his food, or maybe it was the general blanket of tiredness that seemed to always cover him, but he asked: “Why?”

Boss sneered at him, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement pulled on the already shortened leash, yanking his head the barest bit forward. If the other cared, he didn’t show it.

“You ask far too many questions.” Stretch didn’t bother to look up at him, keeping his gaze on the small panel in the wall that showed their position in the elevators. “A new decree is being put into effect,” he said after a beat of silence. “Self-dustings have been on the rise and the general HoPe is falling. We’re discussing means to combat this.”

There was something more in the subject, he knew, but he’d pushed far enough. Living in this hell was less than enjoyable so far, but he didn’t have a death wish. Not yet. He nodded to show his understanding, though the other was looking once more at the seal of the doors and likely didn’t care about his reaction anyways.

The doors slid open with a hiss once they stopped, the heavy thudding of machinery filling the air once more. They walked out past the few monsters that were milling about, sparks from the lava far, far below drifting up just past the rocky platform before they fizzled out into ash. They walked through the hotel soon enough, the fountain in the middle of the square sitting in the center of a pool of stagnant water. Stretch didn’t have time to look around the area much more than a glance before Boss was pulling him out the door, back into the core. The distant bang of machinery had mostly faded, but it disappeared entirely when they stepped into the core, the hum of energy around them electrifying the air.

Boss brought them up to the doors of an elevator, typing something into a keypad beside the doors and stepping inside. Silence fell over them once more. Stretch found that he preferred the ambient noise to the thick quiet, short as it may be. In the quiet, thoughts ran rampant, and even if he had to force to keep his breathing steady, at least then he had something to focus on. Now, sealed in with his reflection, he had nothing to occupy his mind. His phalanges brushed over the cigarette still in his pocket, feeling the paper of it and letting it rest between his fingers for the briefest moment before he went back to rolling it in his hands. Once, twice, three times, and then the doors to the elevator hissed open, and it was silent no more.

A crowd of monsters was sitting in front of him, people shouting and yelling at one another, vendors sitting on the sides of streets and shouting out prices to uncaring ears as they walked past to reach their destinations. Boss stepped out, tugging him along before he had finished processing the sight in front of him, and Stretch hurried to keep up even as his wide eyes flitted over the mass of bodies all around them.

They seemed to part for the other, stepping to the side and avoiding touching him when they could, before folding back in and closing the gap as he passed. Stretch moved faster, ignoring the dull throbbing in his leg as he kept his head down, hands shoved deep in his pockets and eyes on the steel-embedded boots that were on the other’s feet.

He’d been to the capital before, of course, back when he still… It had never been this busy, though, this crowded and dirty and filled with others pressing in on all sides. He glanced over when he heard loud, angry shouting, watching a monster chase away a pair of children from the dumpster outside of a building. 

A tug on his collar reminded him of where he was, and he took in a shaky breath before continuing to follow after. The walls of the castle were in clear view when he looked up, the brick reaching up high enough that he could barely make out where it inevitably touched the ceiling of the cavern. As they came closer to the walls of the castle, the crowds became thinner but the people richer, up until they reached the steel doors of the castle itself. The guard on either side pushed them open, letting them walk in before shutting them with a heavy thud behind.

Stretch looked up to the high-arched ceiling of the building, the stonework intricate and the stained glass windows throwing colors against every wall. He was enraptured by the sight, which is likely why he jumped as high as he did when a heavy hand clapped against his shoulder hard enough to bruise. Brute laughter followed his yelp of surprise as the grip on the leash tugged him back and made him choke.

“Well,” said Undyne. “I gotta say, I like him already.” Undyne. Undyne, brash and loud, an eyepatch not fully covering the torn and off-color scar tissue across her eye, the parts of her scaled flesh that he could see covered in scars, her frizzy and mussed hair slicked back into a tight ponytail.

She grinned at him, the serrated edges of her teeth slotting together like a puzzle. The gills on the sides of her neck wavered as she laughed again, hitting Boss on the back. He let out a small grunt, but otherwise didn’t react to the blow. They started to walk, their pace measured and easy. They’d probably done this hundreds of times before. Stretch shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, trying to pretend that he wasn’t looking around as much as he was.

He’d been in the castle before, of course, but almost always either in the Judgement Hall or the queen’s garden. He avoided the other rooms of the castle as much as possible, hating the cold and almost hopeless aura the walls seemed to exude. It was just as cold here, but with anger and fury. Stretch wasn’t sure which he preferred.

“Care to tell me why you’re toting around your new collared in the capitol? From what I’ve heard, he’s more of a house pet than anything.”

Stretch chose not to respond, wouldn’t have even if he’d been asked. “Respect has been ebbing away.”

She raised a brow at him, the claws on one of her webbed hands drumming against the metal armor on her thigh. “In the monarchy, maybe.” A slitted, yellow eye flicked to him before moving forwards once more. “A new collared ain’t gonna fix that.”

“I’m not attempting to mend the tears in trust with our Majesty.” 

Undyne laughed, the sound sharp and brash, crashing against the stone walls of the castle and bounding up towards the ceiling. After the volume of her cackle, her next words were quiet, though the grin still pulled at her lips. “Careful there, rookie. It’s all fun and game ‘till you’re executed for treason.”

Boss let out a huff of breath that may have been amusement. Despite the casual threat of death, neither seemed too worried, though Stretch couldn’t be sure whether it was from the lack of threat or the desensitization to it. 

They turned down another, smaller corridor, and then another, continuing on down convoluted paths and walls that all looked the same until Stretch was certain that they were lost. Then they passed under an archway, the ceiling and walls lifting back up into a larger room. Huge wooden doors were set into the wall in front of where they walked out, and Stretch followed to the others to the doors.

Tried to, at least, as Boss soon changed directions away from Undyne and tugged him towards a lone Knight Knight standing against one of the walls. Stretch stopped- tried to, at least- digging his heels into the floor, and leaning back as he saw the other’s hand come forward with the leash. Boss turned to glare at him, yanking it forward and making him choke. His hands came up to wrap around the front of the collar once more, the metal of the tag frigid against the bone that it did touch. Something flickered in Boss’s eyelights when their eyes met, though it was gone before he had a chance to read it, the end of the leash being placed in Knight Knight’s hand and Boss walking away to where Undyne was waiting.

“Stay here,” he said over his shoulder, like he really had a choice and could go anywhere. Teleporting was always an option, of course, but after what happened last time… He honestly wasn’t sure he wanted to try it ever again.

The dull scrape of bone on bone as he slid a hand down the uninjured portion of his face grounded him, and with a soft sigh he looked up as the doors creaked open, Boss and Undyne filing in along with a few other guards. He glanced over to the Knight Knight, though she seemed content to stand at attention with his leash in hand. ‘His leash.’ Bile rose up in his throat before he shoved it back down, forcing himself to keep it out of mind as he shuffled over to stand beside her. His leg gave a dull throb, and he looked between the guard and the floor before mentally shrugging and sliding down to the cold tile.

He pulled his knees up to his chest, folding his arms atop them and resting his skull against his forearms as he closed his eye. The bandages tugged on his injury, slightly, in this position, but the pain faded away after a few moments into a dull throb. It was almost calming, sitting against the wall of the castle and listening to the Knight Knight’s steady breathing, though if he held still long enough he could almost pretend that he was back in his room, back-

He opened his eye, forcing himself to sit up and stay awake, even if fatigue was pulling his eyelids down and a lack of genuine rest was making him feel weak. Stretch sighed, phalanges coming up to trace the rough edges of the bandage covering his eye once more, flicking his gaze over the thick tapestries in the room and the weapons hanging on the walls that were far too heavy for a normal monster to wield.

Footsteps, soft and padding, came from one of the hallways off to the side, and Stretch would have thought nothing of it had the Knight Knight not moved in turn, a low hum making its way through the metal of her helmet. The armor covering her body scraped against itself as she turned to the direction of the footsteps. Stretch started to stand, thinking maybe he was to be led somewhere else, when a cat monster walked through the small side hallway, his tail flicking in agitation and the hair over his body standing on end. When he saw the night he relaxed some, giving a grin that looked more like a wince than anything, shoving his hands into the pockets of the jacket he was wearing.

“Do you got a smoke I can bum?” Stretch blinked up at him, though he wasn’t paying much attention to anyone but the night as she shook her head. 

Her arm reached out, a bag of G in her hand, and the cat took it with another twitch of his tail, dropping a paper sack into her hands. Knight Knight brought it up to her face, the paper crinkling as she checked over its contents before a satisfied hum made its way would of her mouth. Stretch considered the cat for a moment, his twitchy gaze and strained smile, before he wrapped his fingers around the cigarette in his pocket, extending it up to him. Both of the gaze snapped down to him as he moved and he flinched, though he continued to hold out the cig. The cat took it with consideration before a grin stretched across his face, rolling it between his fingers with something that may have been a smirk. His whiskers were still twitching, though, and occasionally his eyes darted away to some odd corner of the room. There was no real humor in the smile, more of a twist to the mouth than anything.

“Who do you belong to, little buddy? Not my friend here, surely. She’s not near strong enough for anything other than standing around and looking bulky and semi-threatening.”

Knight Knight grumbled but didn’t argue, and the cat looked down at the cigarette once more before extending a hand. “Call me BP.”

He reached his own hand up, shaking his hand before dropping it back down into his lap. “Stretch,” he responded to the unspoken question.

BP seemed to be more at ease than he was when he’d first arrived, though his tail still swished back and forth. His eyes lingered on his collar as he twirled the cigarette between his fingers. “The Lieutenant, huh?” Stretch shrugged, pulling his knees in closer to his chest. It seemed to be enough of a response for the other. The tail twitched once more. “Eh. Could be a hell of a lot worse.”

On the inside, Stretch agreed. 

BP’s ear twitched and he lifted up his wrist, pulling aside the sleeve to look at a cracked watch. “Well, the breaks almost over. Time to go back to the hell within hell.” The cig hit him in the forehead, and Stretch blinked in shock a few times before looking down to where it had landed in his lap. “Thanks, little buddy, but I’m afraid I don’t have a light. Besides,” at this he flicked his gaze across Stretch, eyes lingering on the bandages around his head and the ones bulking slightly under the fabric of his pants. “You look like you need it a hell of a lot more than I do. Come find me if you ever get off your leash long enough to get something stronger.”

He turned at that, starting to walk away. The edge of the paper was starting to peel up, the cig unraveling, and Stretch looked around before licking it and tucking it back down. It went back in his pocket, held tight between his phalanges as a grounding point. He swallowed, his eye closing as he let himself lean back against the stone wall, resting his skull against the rock and tilting his head up to the ceiling.

Time would pass.

He rolled the cigarette between his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNINGS:** drug deals, mention of drug use, death threats (all are minor and vague, though the last is honestly just uf sans being a Dickhole)
> 
> ___
> 
> man, who else is excited for that birthday party that's coming up!?!?


	11. Mama Mia That's-a One Spicy Shitpost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this story would have been better off deleted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so im _never_ going to finish this story, but one of my greatest pet peeves is when a story is left discontinued without any notice or mentions of the plot. if you guys know me, then you know that my true power comes from shitposts. i live shitpost. i breathe shitpost. shitpost runs through my veins. and so, following the shitpost in which i live every waking moment of my life, here is the remaining plot of requiem in my shitpost style! enjoy, and please leave anon hate in the comments because i eat that shit like water

 

Fell= uf papyrus

Red = uf sans

Stretch= us papyrus

Blue= us sans

 

After he comes out of the meeting with the king, Fell is like. Major Jackass. He is very obviously Stressed The Fuck Out and our dear Stretch takes the brunt of this rudeness like a champ. (That was a lie. He takes it about as well as any abused skeleton would take it.) 

Once they get back to Snowdin from a boat ride in which there is  _ sexual tension _ (or romantic tension, some kind of tension, take your pick) Fell goes up to his wooden board that’s in town that notices from the castle are posted on. Here we find out that the meeting from the King was inspired by the hit horror flick,  _ The Purge _ (2013) and since food is starting to become more scarce, Snowdin is essentially open for extermination and they can take all their stuff. Since it’s an order from the King, the guard isn’t allowed to interfere.

Long story short, Asgore is a Cool Guy.

So this goes over well with the town, of course. More guards are stationed in Snowdin to keep out those who want to get an early start, and to keep those trying to run away in the town. The guards stationed by the Riverperson mysteriously disappear, but for some reason RP isn’t giving boat rides to citizens. Regardless, things are kinda shitty in the town for a while. Stretch ends up meeting Toriel, of course, and expresses the appropriate amount of concern for the inappropriate jokes that seem to be a staple of the Fell worlds, right?

Some of the jokes include:

**What has two legs and bleeds?** Half of a dog.

**What’s the best part about fucking twenty seven year olds?** There are twenty of them.

Anyways, they get back and a soft murmur is over the town. Of course our sexy boy Fell is at the very center of it all, standing strong just in front of the line of guards that’s keeping out the bloodthirsty crowd. He looks very sexy and strong. I’m ruining the seriousness of this moment by being myself.

Anyways, he removes his guard-assigned armor and tosses it to the side and calmly states that he’s resigning from the royal guard. He can fight against the crowd that’s coming in, bichados. Red is definitely happy with this.

So there’s tension, the citizens go back by the ruins, etc. Fell fights them and it’s super intense. Undyne’s standing off to the side telling him to “MOVE YOU DUMB MOTHERFUCKER” because she’s a good friend and I love her. Fell told the Dogi to keep an eye on Stretch and keep him away and Red is keeping the citizens safe because Fell told him to.

Stretch manages to get away from the Dogi long enough to teleport back to the town just in time to see a monster about to strike the finishing blow. He panics, and since our orange boy doesn’t have the best control of his magic, the blaster that he summons kinda sorta kills a man. Whoops! We all make mistakes.

So since it was only a day, Fell has apparently been fighting for a while. Not long after Stretch McFucking Kills a Man, Undyne shouts orders to stop. The Underground’s  _ Purge _ (2013) is over.

So they take Fell into the brother’s house since he’s not doing too well. Red is really pissed at Stretch because he wants to direct his anger at  _ someone _ and orange guy is the closest.

Red storms off after they bandage Fell, and Stretch follows him down to the basement to find that he’s working on the machine. Turns out that Red is trying to send him home. Red tells him to fuck off, and Stretch, already unstable from the fact that he now has a bit of LV, summons an attack. It’s shaky and flickering, about to go out, and he’s nearly panicking as he threatens Red, saying that if he didn’t stop working on it then he was going to kill him.

Red, of course, is very unconcerned about this. He’s had worse threats. He scoffs and turns back to the machine. And says something like “C’mon kid. Don’t’cha wanna see yer brother?” which goes over well. Red finds out about Yandere Blue which ends with him having the new nickname “Red.” Creative.

There’s a loud crash from upstairs and both move up to see that Fell is the picture of perfect health. There’s a bit of arguing that happens between the two, ending with Fell’s magic flaring in anger- which, of course, causes him to stumble into Stretch, who catches him. Romantic as hell, right? Red tells Fell about the casualties that happened from the monsters that managed to make it past the bottleneck at the entrance.

Then a harsh knock comes from the door. All three tense up for a few seconds, which is too long for our awesome bitch Undyne, who punches a hole in the door right beside the lock and calmly turns it, opening the door and stepping in. She calls Fell a “ballsy, cock-sucking, dumbass, motherfucking piece of shit!” Everyone is quiet for a moment before Fell coughs and says “I think you could say a few more curses there, Captain.”

I didn’t put much thought into what happens after other than that Stretch is not having a good time with his new LV and  _ The Purge _ (2013) caused Undyne to tell the Skeles Co. about her plan to kill the king. There’s a bit of back and forth about who would rule if Asgore even was killed. Fell suggests Undyne, but she snorts and shakes her head. I love her.

She says something about having someone else to take care of. Stretch, our amazing intelligent boy, asks “Alphys?”

Undyne is gay.

Then we switch to our lovely family sitcom about the three skeletons having to live on the run since Fell kinda-sorta commited treason. During this time, Stretch learns to stop crying every ten minutes while both Underfell brothers have sticks surgically removed from their asses. Some deep conversations happen, some shitty jokes happen, and some regicide happens. Fun.

During this time of self-discovery and the start of a *cough*  _ relationship _ *cough*, they’re trying to figure out who the hell would rule the kingdom while they set up the strings to take out Asgore. Red probably mentions something to Toriel and she snorts and says “Well, it’s about time!” She’s a salty ex-wife.

Of course, they aren’t in their house during this time, which means that everything is kinda up for grabs. The machine in the basement included. Alphys, our resident anime-asshole lizard, shows up one day in their hiding place, delivering the lovely news that she was fucking around in their basement and connected some shit. Or maybe not. I didn’t think this part out too much and now that I’ve typed it I don’t know if Alphys would care enough to tell them.

Anyways, that edgy shit happens, and they decide to go ahead on killing the King and asking questions later after word comes in that the guard themselves will be wiping out the town of Snowdin.

Long story short, since I’m tired of typing, Blue ends up coming back and having a fun conversation with Stretch while Red, Fell, Undyne, and whoever else all go to kill the King. With the King, they all get their asses pretty much kicked, and just before Asgore kills them all Toriel comes in and kicks ass. There’s a reason she was Queen of the Underground for centuries.

So Blue tries to take Stretch back and he ends up knocking Blue out. Flowey is there eating popcorn or some shit (not really).

I’ve really diminished the impact of this story, but that’s about it. 

**FUN ENDINGS:** With possible triggers in both so be wary.

Ending 1: Alrighty, this one is canon. So long story short, Stretch thinks that Red and Fell sent Blue back to Underswap when in all actuality they gave him to Alphys for “experimentation.” Remember the deal he made with her earlier in the story? That was a thing.

Ending 2: So this would be an alternate ending just for funsies. If I were to ever write it. Which I won’t. This one was based on a comment that Sora made about about a turned Swapfell. Basically, if they  _ had _ sent Blue back, then he would have snapped and pretty much wiped out the Underground before coming back to Underfell and taking out Red and Fell because that’s a thing that can apparently happen. It’s really edgy and evil. The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my first fucking update in months. jesus christ.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on [tumblr](https://ollie-oxen-free.tumblr.com/) and yell at me


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